I am not ashamed of the layers I have shed without regard to others
nor the layers I have collected at my own flesh and blood beating
a pace I should shroud in fear or guilt or pain. I know nothing
I know nothing of tenderness any longer, I know nothing of docile
I know nothing I know nothing and everything finds me in these moments
I am myself, devoid of feeling or forthright for others not belonging
within this beaten and left for less cage of nights passing with no one to role on to
I am myself in its most settled form, each layer a distant resemblance of the next
I am no longer lover, I am not a provider of pleasure. I am the one in waiting a placemat to soak
the condensation of the happenings surrounding, the light, the wind, shadows that follow, time
by way of sun and rain. I am at a distant horizon but intact, un tethered to the ideal of anyones fancy.
it hurts more then a little.
nor the layers I have collected at my own flesh and blood beating
a pace I should shroud in fear or guilt or pain. I know nothing
I know nothing of tenderness any longer, I know nothing of docile
I know nothing I know nothing and everything finds me in these moments
I am myself, devoid of feeling or forthright for others not belonging
within this beaten and left for less cage of nights passing with no one to role on to
I am myself in its most settled form, each layer a distant resemblance of the next
I am no longer lover, I am not a provider of pleasure. I am the one in waiting a placemat to soak
the condensation of the happenings surrounding, the light, the wind, shadows that follow, time
by way of sun and rain. I am at a distant horizon but intact, un tethered to the ideal of anyones fancy.
it hurts more then a little.
