Six weeks or more since we spoke, that’s a long time.
Like the last cigarette of a smoker, I promised myself it wouldn’t happen again.
Carving pain with polygraphs.
Painting purposeful positions with pompous palettes rendered me empty.
Empty as the dead sea having seen and read my last rights I wondered what makes me blue.
While pondering the poignancy of strong silences and babbling brooks, fight dripped from me.
Tiptoeing away like the last breath of a beer tap. I dripped
I dripped as the infantry of my infantility
I dripped, tripped and rolled around in my barrel of conspiracy.
Being gassed wasn’t the right energy.
To thine own self, be true or make thyself an enemy.
Infamy isn’t in for me so I found the trending topic that cut into me.
Started chewing on some Emerson and audited my inventory.
Tasting the deep dark, unveiled statutes of clarity
Alas! I march on yet I’m thankful for February.