stench of tobacco, of smoke
wafted through the floorboards, a portrait
of failings and shattered promises
framed in the reflection of guilt soiled recollection.
A whisper, a prayer.
The division of labor
between
heart and soul
the fleeting sense of
satisfaction.
WRAPPED up in porcelain strength lies. Organization and
struggles;
dully aware of the heartache that incinerates my mouth.
Grasping for the right words to feel, the right emotions to say, the spotlight on the revolution
inspired
by the seamless transition from heartbreak to sorrow, from
fulfillment
to hollow clamoring.
2 comments:
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Oh my god remind me. I put my testicles in a pot of boiling water when i went through those withdrawls.
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