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Nothing More

Posted by para on April 1, 2018 at 1:20 AM

Were I to wear the fur of my beloved cat, the softest pelt known to the fingertips of mankind, I would feel peace.

Were I to melt into any reality between here and there, the broken space unseen by you, I would be solid; A specter intent on contentment.

But, as of such deficiency, I weaken. I weaken of anger. I weaken of frustration. I weaken of fear.

I weaken of depression.


A small child, such as me, should cry under heavy quilts made for kings and feel the warmth of mother’s concern of inevitable fevered brow.


The weight of my aged limbs and scars falls heavily across the black sky as a sarcastic, fire-breathing monster in search of not only today but of the past when I had a chance at being alive.

Were I to be alive now, I may wash upon a shore of regret and that is a shore that does not exist.

 

There is nothing more I can do to make life feel worthy of its breath. Were I to try, I may implode into a black hole of anti-matter- a sunken treasure integrated into the burden of the sea.

 

Where are the new chapters?

  

©Jen2018 4-1


Categories: Para, POET'S OPEN BLOG

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