The crypt
I’m craving for a time when the snow would level me out
From the bathtub bottled gin
That takes 20 minutes of focusing the mind to open
Fatigued
I need a lie down before I put the bicarb salts to indulge my sins
I sit here dying my hair
I don’t want to disintergate this mortal skin
I know won’t compromise
The equations
They won’t grant me a dividend.
In the positivity I feel when my nonsense brings me more clarity
No disparities
The urge to give in to that initial rush.
Knowing that skiing the slopes of the cold rush
will end in a broken arm
A splinter to embarrass my ego
Show me up in a self-delusional femur propped up in a white cast in a sling.
Won’t humour my smile or bodily akin.
Write to recover
Write to reform
No, reaffirm I’m better without my foes
I used to call my brethren l.
I’m better
Now
I’m better now
Don’t ruin it
For brief a 30 second thought I sniffed out as win-win
Situation
Within
Actions become our past
Experiences
The future can make it count without losing an ounce of my heart to the demons of the crypt.
I won’t sin.
Posted on Dec 15, 2020, in POETRY and tagged creative outlets, Emotions, Life, poems, POETRY, Relationships, Stream of consciousness. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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