Thursday, June 14, 2012

The walk with conscience

Walk through dark dungeons
Tripping over tiny pebbles of
Guilt ridden ash, collected
Hardened, over every
Unbearable moment of
Flaming forbidden pleasure.
Every scene. Preserved.
Like wax dolls staring
Into the shadow that
Looms somewhere behind.
Every flicker of the eyelid, every
Throb of the cheek, every
Moment of lewd copulation.
Preserved. Like fruits in
Vinegar. Sour, unpleasant,
Irresistible. Every thrust
A push towards the edge of
Sanity. Every cry, every dig
Of the finger nail on the
Bare back, an iron nail on
The coffin of need. The need.
To blame yourself, the others
The manipulative universe.

It won’t make sense. It can’t
Make sense. Just
Keep walking.

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