A sense of the broken places presses upon me
Compresses my mind
As my sickly fortune balloons into oblivion
Guilt mixes with bile
I am full of the urgency to love
Oppressed by friends and strangers, all scattered
Slashed at by life's sharp edge
The block stop wedge
A bleak point, without purpose
Pains hammer, relentless
The inevitable terminus,
relief?
And me with a sense of hope
A bubble not yet burst
Borrowed eyes still seeing
Recognising life in the presence of its shadow
Oh thick black shape!
I pray that something good billows in your depths
I try to imagine some end to life that is bigger than its parts
Fingers press for blood
The wish a rusty eyed red scream
It is one
Precious in pain
Illusively here
It is not me, why is that so?
I am here, something not
I do not know how to interpret the vague impulses of this formless monster
So I drift in an absurd world
Love seems my only cause of action
Off runs fear, melancholy drains
Guilt remains
What of those who cannot get hold of anything to navigate by
Who have dismantled every story yet can not tell another
Or the simply tired,
Named or not, those that suffer terribly
Do so quietly
I cannot think for them
Lying, still breathing
As foolish as when I first entered this world
The thought lingers like a bird with no nest
I was born
The terrifying thrill of it rises in my chest
BORN!
I was born
The terrifying thrill of it rises in my chest
BORN!
