Where is my vice, my vent, my volatile succumbing to sin?
Quiet before the storm... perhaps after...? during. In its very midst. Trapped in an eye of bloodshot sobriety, sober-riotry... I cannot ache for I cannot feel past this emptiness. In its very midst. Surrounded, strapped down, shackled to its intense reverberating beauty. How vile- delicate, bittersweet- torrential. Just pour. Fall forth, fall down, disseminate, disintegrate, deteriorate. Just let me sleep. For this tears and nags and rips-staccato across my skin, gnawing; unwanted soul-tattoo. And I just wanted respite.
About Me
- Sushila Danae Battagione
- I am in the midst of discovering how to combine my passions, skills and desire to "heal the world" into a compensatory occupation, return to the School of Hard Knocks, all while referee-ing the pupalupagus and the widderkitten.
No comments:
Post a Comment