Saturday, September 22, 2012

Prisoning Season

This is the time of Justin. Indian Summer pressing my back to bleed. Pain breaks and drips arounds the nails of my toes to rub in the shine. A pressence of love less made; the ache of loss,or fantasy built around your life, dropped like an eggshell over a steel nail.
Imprisonment of reality, you only live in dream or memory...while shadows of life lure me in to humble myself , trickery of tears to summon the pain. I trample through the sick cardio, raked beyond enjoyment and left less subtle.
Your series of contradictions must end. I absorb you; fill on you. You channel me. I'm through.

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