Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Like a lie it takes all life from me. Like a heart it fills my body, passing through me its twisted roots and subtle agonies, calling me into question with its travailous rapture, leaving no stone unturned, no heart unquenched, no creature more than a mewling whelp. Naught left but kneeling, humble, frustrated, and resigned. Tired, hungry, in pain both moral and psychological. Is this where it has left me? Then why do I need not to let it lie? There is some heartier gravity at work on my bones, coming from whence they came, drawing them from whence they go.

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