loathing, a lie on two legs
disgust, hearing that stomachs are growling in the dark
pain, feeling not one of your arms is long enough
terror, seeing crayons scrawl claws of memory
horror, holding a wilted flower from a hot soak
frustration, seeing ugly stir
hope, on vacation in hell
resolve, brewing cures with others
I hear the smell of endings that rustle like death
so close, yet illusive
There are so many visions of the negative that come to mind at this time. I would say there are no words but that is all there is. Letting go is the honorable thing and yet that will never be one of the words. There is no honor in self indulgence, false pride, self absorption. There is only the hollow emptiness of the same lie told to a new audience.
But on the horizon is real infirmity. Something tangible to hold as a trophy. And the only one to be surprised will be the owner of the falsehood.
Blood, the very fearsome thing will come to visit in a manner that has been described time and time again but in faux form.
Knowing this was invoked by the owner of the lies. Too bad, so sad, failed cad, I'm glad.
Thank you for indulging my dark thoughts. XOXO Oma Linda