Saturday, March 12, 2016

the priestess.

help, help; your language no longer bears
a meaning to me- i can only hear and fear it; not long
ago, i didn't question
my belonging inside its fluency, its guts. but
i am old and heavy,
unbelonging, unbelonging; nothing will stop this; i love

reality in spite of my protests. expectations
of the uncomfortable, the rambling, indecisions; the
drastic choosing, the impulses; fear of
never feeling better; repeating itself- the rambling.
the unknowing of meaning- long ago i lost
my relating to such.
o old gods stagnating in my mind as a result
of its gravity, speak clearly.
how i wish i was one to
speak clearly. there are no voices. there is
no such existence as the present.