this self afflicted veil of darkness;
when the light hits these eyes, this skin.
emerging from my cave
I know the feeling, always have
the warming, the inner joy of temporary reprieve,
how soon my dna seems to forget however, so, waiver,
to slink back to that dying comfort
to the slow killing-
all paths lead to death
but would I rather know the land a bit more
does such meandering matter,
does that make me dig my own plot however
that much sooner.
I might rather then, burn my feet in the light
on that unforgiving exposed plot of sand
than reduce down into a heap of still dust
a huddled cold mass,
all that lies between, is will.
notes… maybe my thoughts are a diary, of my inner self, or not so inner, just my self… sometimes there is rain. “but it can’t rain all the time”…