Tuesday, July 30, 2019

unforgivable vignettes

 






 

 It is there

As rolling thunder in the background

my soul

like some kind of unraveling cyclone

bull-in-china-shop reckless



where my skin feels too tight

itchy, as the insect that skitters across your back in your sleep

only to awaken and not rest again



I feel it, in the places where the ruthlessness of the abuse

Is a scar that never diminishes, where I have become marred from the experience



But there’s no way to know that until I open my mouth.



It is the contamination, that pours through me, savage and hateful. 



impregnated with import, something irreversible stays

as pitch that stains mentality

I listen to them drone on

where they mistake my pause for awe

graphic carnal fantasies unfold in my mind



beyond the surface tension that binds me

there is a compulsion that seeks to infiltrate

conniving.



there is some aspect of self that is scratching at the wallpaper

Hacking at the database , vandalizing the text



corrupting the moment in the flaw

as if I am listening a bit too much

wondering if I am hearing things that are not there





sensing the unfairness of time as a space between many worlds

it has a texture that shapes us,



unique unto ourselves.

In a kind of expansive isolation that never tires

There is a loneliness that nothing can satiate

a rage that never subsides.



As if I am a bystander to the tumultuous waves eroding the origins of my identity. 



I think upon the places that made me like this.

As a series of unforgivable vignettes that cannot be unlived. 



as jealousy for a thing that cannot be obtained, only lost. 





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