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.
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