writing free, writing me. writing anywhere but where I’m supposed to be. crippled crutch of a bunch of past mistakes and errors. my stoop with raven in northern oregon, pour it on me so lightly. these days pass like half forgotten nightmares. the past, dashed upon my tomb with doom from my actions, my words split surge across her mind like an untimely visit from death. i trudge on through shattered after effects of my soul destroyed on impact. redact the lines so fine from the seas in me and her. soaring, whoring, deploring the deplorable actions of i. why lie? why live? this life so amassed by pipe bombs and war songs,…my soul should split shift to the rift in the atlantic, my panic and freeze step questions the morality of why i exist. land torn and seas split. the day i live or die doesn’t seem to remind the gods that i exist or persist. just hail smashing, rotten fruit bearing, of the entombing of my soul. broken whole upon the deflecting of love from my once whole bidding.
