I move like a specter through
these dusty walls, unsheathed, rudderless,
picking at the fleshy wounds beneath.
What can I say?
I have a propensity for masochism.
The coffee leaves an
unfinished ring, a Rorschach of uncertainty;
a syllogism both beautiful and achingly incomplete.
these dusty walls, unsheathed, rudderless,
picking at the fleshy wounds beneath.
What can I say?
I have a propensity for masochism.
The coffee leaves an
unfinished ring, a Rorschach of uncertainty;
a syllogism both beautiful and achingly incomplete.
Jennifer, the pain is strong in your words. A friend has written a poem on her blog, too. Jasveena Prabhagaran on Google+ posted about this. I hope you find strength to move you toward the future.
ReplyDeleteI suppose it is pain sometimes that inspires us the most. Thank you for taking the time to read it. :) I will check out Jasveena's page.
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