my conscience opaquely clear

“no I don’t feel the need for reliving, some things are better off dead”
“I don’t miss my span of attention. I do miss that reflection of Jim.”
I set out to drown that reflection
awful secret

the one words could not hide.
mimicking the sea of time,
a nothing,
I traced the little red rivers
that scared my earth
and whispered questions
in half beats, and cleche.
but one does not asks the gods
why
they throw storm and flood,
that mighty pageantry,
that excess,
onto us little ones
with too much time on our hands
and nothing to love.

the little things that take me back
a certain smell
a picture
the black underlined markings
of a 14 year old fuckup
trouncing about books
where every little nuance
was passed over
for the sex
and death: the image,

and yet, going back has its own
consequences,
a map never has
just
one
way
and punishment is only…
interpretation
so lined
so
and so….

but I doubt that,
the mirror I broke,
which still seems so fresh to me now
could give off that same reflection,
ever again.

By ghost ridder

lost n alone in this place taht they call reality her with my boyfriend he is all that matters to me