Some mornings I have weights on my ankles and other days wings on my back. Tumbling, bumbling, stumbling over words, I rumble.
Knit one, purl one, hold tight that yarn, never drop a stitch.
I catch my shin with the razor and watch mutely on as my entire vessel is choked of all blood, seeping indolently across a naked bathroom floor.
Engulfed by a congealing pool of dropped stitches I lay, weighted by the shackles of lost dreams and waylaid hope. Wallowing in a remorseful tide of bloodied regret I droop, tempering my once flaxen locks with the darkly hollowed hues of pain.
Setting my intention, I brace against the terminal vertigo of eons spent itinerant. Atop shaky legs I stand. My trailing red fingertips smear the curvature of the porcelain rail, evoking in the splintered veneer a newly crimson finish.
The famine of love has broken; I torpidly feel my way. Rise, I start. I circle once, twice, clocking the fading misery of the witching hours. Retreat, I must. On the floor below, the gushing red deluge dissipates into nihility. Repent, I have. The door stands open and defiant, aghast at the scene. Resurrected, I am.
Knit one, purl one, hold tight that yarn, never drop a stitch.
I catch my shin with the razor and watch mutely on as my entire vessel is choked of all blood, seeping indolently across a naked bathroom floor.
Engulfed by a congealing pool of dropped stitches I lay, weighted by the shackles of lost dreams and waylaid hope. Wallowing in a remorseful tide of bloodied regret I droop, tempering my once flaxen locks with the darkly hollowed hues of pain.
Setting my intention, I brace against the terminal vertigo of eons spent itinerant. Atop shaky legs I stand. My trailing red fingertips smear the curvature of the porcelain rail, evoking in the splintered veneer a newly crimson finish.
The famine of love has broken; I torpidly feel my way. Rise, I start. I circle once, twice, clocking the fading misery of the witching hours. Retreat, I must. On the floor below, the gushing red deluge dissipates into nihility. Repent, I have. The door stands open and defiant, aghast at the scene. Resurrected, I am.
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