I've been dealing with sickness and suffering this week. It's left me mostly bed-bound; a retching mess, poor in nutrition and health, creativity and experiences.
Today I picked up my pen again for the first day in a little while and, like a convulsion, the writing poured forth. I'm still addled with confusion, mostly caused by my own poor sense, slightly sick with a delicate palate and slowly growing resolute that I will never clear my amounting debts and never make up my mind.
I'm too tired right now to think of a title. Here is something for you.
Ruptured with innocent
admiration and love, I
choose to lie around you
alike the other girls do I-
my arms a living belt
around your waist, my kiss
upon your cheek in place
of a blusher, and silently,
as if unknowingly,
you carry on as I burden
the weight of my affections upon you
like the pest you make
me feel I am. I become
an ant scuttling on
the hand of a tyrant
just waiting to be noticed
... and I'm crushed more
painfully by your oblivious
nature than by your palm.
I see now how I
mistreat those others
and wonder who it is
that you would rather
crawl upon
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