back into the pores they seethed from.
blanketed in self-loathing
my bed of despair
flared with the heat
of degradation.
indulgence in formidable actions
was a thing of the past
collecting dust in corners,
much like the self-portrait from a moment before
when i was encased in the frame of a better time.
glass, splinters and regrets
sat deeply embedded into the soles of my feet
so that this soul of defeat
grew weary in her march alongside gravity.
my face,
scathed from reality's surface,
bled of cowardice
and of the excuses i used to leave.
clotted long enough to let me witness
all of the things i would've seen
if only i had acknowledged
the indiscretions in honesty.
No comments:
Post a Comment