Saturday, November 5, 2011



Just another mild distraction
Rubbing softly on the never 
Healing sore that is I.
The dull pain never
Loses its flattering grip
And the putrid smell of
Self-destruction emanates 
A little more into the convulsion
Of this aloneness.
One could almost miss being ignorant,
And one knows it is useless missing you.
So I trudge with my self
And your memories through the foul work 
Of solitude that seems to be this 
I conjure will through hope,
Continually moving forward though the circle,
Yet now I find it is time to rest,
Time to once again stop and look around,
Time to sit within the mess
And see what I can find.
It’s time to absorb for a bit.


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