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Myself, I’m hardly sure of anymore. Where I stand even less, I really do alone. I might as well occupy cow hooves, I’m a fatter, personality artificially pumped sheep filled with garbage nutrients of society. Beautiful, hideous, or bonded to my red, it’s all going to be the same where it stops.
At this rate I’m phasma mounting phasmatis, and where’s the point of anything without a hollowed out sense of “you,” closing with a face to assign it? If you drown in anything it will be this blood I’m writing, and I hope I could easily wash you away with everything till your last gasping breath while I await your faceless apology.
I am Chaos upon one of the seven sins of sense, I’m a rainbow array of painful pleasure. Be honest when you admit how you’d love to be destroyed; it hurts when you see anything I’d try to hide.
The tacking and advertising of two languages—me, I don’t even speak, but bear them all the time. The dialect of love is forever changing.
3 comments:
No one but you could say that any better. You use such poetry to your writings. It sometimes puts me in another place in my mind. Thanks to you I see so much more and I am open to much more than the everyday same old thing. You are so full of life and open to learning so many new things. Please, keep opening my eyes of wonderment and discovery! :)*
stopping in from Sits!!such deepness in your writing, you reamind me of my son!:)
@ kissafrog69: Thank you. It's interesting you mention poetry, my dad and Jonathan often call my writing poetry outright. I've never considered what I write to be poetry, in fact, I dislike most poetry and find it quite annoying. So it's always a little odd when people call what I write poetry. Makes me wonder. :)
Knowing that I can open minds is such a great feeling. I'm glad I can be that open door for you. :)
@ Twincerely,Olga: Hello, thank you for stopping by. Thank you for the lovely comment, I'm glad I reminded you of your son. :)
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