When we first bared our bones.

Veilied in lonliness, naked,
my vulnerability relays itself for the crowd’s sick viewing pleasure.
My seeping wounds of virgin guilt are so naively displayed.
“What a measly attempt at forging ahead.” That’s what I said.
Salvage my soul, if you would.
I’m yearning for bittersweet serenity, that pinnacle of divine intervention.
All the while waiting for a buildup of sustainable stamina.
Stamina that will prop up my soul once more.
Decode this cryptic insanity mother time has bestowed upon us.
I’ll be waiting in the wings, fires a blazing.

Inspiration writing pt.II.

"What you don't understand you can make mean anything."

My mind. Punctured, tainted scarce.
Fleeting and whimsical.
Perpetual bliss spirals down my vertabrae, only to be outdone by wild winds of plague.
To be made up only to be torn down.
My mind is hidden and wired.
It takes offense and then succombs to the norm.
Much like a torpedo through the airwaves it will not be silenced.


Reading Chuck P’s ‘Diary’ really inspired me.