Once upon time,
Is the color dreams
Develop on ripening.
–
My world is concave,
No longer small
But steadily inverting.
–
I think I would look
Better if I were inside out
Then you’d see
How deep my convictions run.
–
Perfection is an illusion
Favored in hindsight.
–
All this wanting, all this looking
And still nothing achieved.
How does one fill a hole
That isn’t there?
–
I am paper, I absorb
The realities imposed on me,
The contradictions
The fallacies labored
And satisfied at the expense
Of my gravel-ridden soul.
–
I have no questions for you
Only accusations and even they
Are mostly self-inflicted.
mindlovemisery 