Raze
I breathe in, and the world ceases its turn. The wind twists around me, pulls me toward nothing, presses hot and tumultuous against my skin, whipping my hair into a frenzy, stinging my eyes, before dying dramatically with a stirring of sand at my feet. The sun hangs heavy in a bleached sky, a shimmering [...]
So it goes.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand
To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed
To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
Posted at 4:41 am on June 15, 2009 | leave a comment | Filed Under: Insomnia, Musings, Shenanigans | Tagged: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Feeling like I know too much, Kilgore Trout, Literature, Plath, Slaughterhouse Five, The Picture of Dorian Gray | read on
