Tuesday, August 16, 2005
...
When?—Did the world begin to spin?
When i decided i was it’s queen?
And perhaps, maybe, didn’t need your help?
Because his zest for life attracts me…
My zest for life, though, has no clear limit—
And that need is near, if not really, deadly.
Now… i’ve come upon the proverbial end
The rope, now, is too tight around my body;
Phlegm that’s escaping my lips, evidence of the decay…
As i decay the ropes strive to keep me vivified.
They do their job… oh so beautifully—
Oh, so painfully.
Whimpering… wanting his attention
Yet you know what i need…
Careless, impulsive, self-direction…
I’m enslaved by the wants i heed.
Ain’t it sad? —That i should be:
More fragmented than truly free?
These ropes are my freedom…
My perimeter of life.
Such peaceful coexistence;
Between heaven and strife.
Woe my insistence; woe my blind greed…
Woe my fear of facing my very own sin’s seeds!
Indignant at a term!What is repression?–what is a rose?
How could i let it keep me
—on my tiny toes?
Such a word is but a word
And needn’t cause much worry.
I shall not become a fiend; a thief!—
Who sees the light and scurries.
http://pat.pixelled.com
Posted by inktrip at 12:50 AM