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 Dec 2016 miss keisha
Erin Roma
When I woke up, groggy from the previous mind adventure, I knew I was still deep in slumber.
Dying to unveil what satisfies my deepest questions. How do I get out of this labyrinth? A pilgrim with nothing to hold on to. Not so sure.
My very own sanity is a hurricane. Severely obsessing over the slightest bit of your imperfections. Don’t you know my heart hurtled? When you called my name?  It rode a space shuttle, plummeting in loops when you tease me with those sweet little things of yours. It was ultimately extreme. It screamed. Screamed so wildly because it wants to stop and at the same time, it feels so high that it could reach the seventh heaven. Now, does it please you to see me struggle? You win.
I wander the insides of this hideous monster and wonder what it’s like to be outside. In the real world. Maybe this is the door to something, something  cinematic and magical. Maybe things would be rough before it goes smooth and velvety. Yeah maybe. I forced myself to believe.
I have made several attempts for a sweet escape but every fugging time, I am always lured to come back and get trapped again.
Your presence is an intertwining intoxication and remedy. Maybe, I shall get you arrested from making me suffer from an euphoria that you hit and ran. Or maybe not because I enjoyed it in some way. Your sadistic crime brought me so much damage that my brain rejected to function properly.
Now I’m feeding on pure delusions that I could still recover and get back safe. Safe into paradise that I initially think you were. It’s like thinking that you’re taking the right path to heaven and suddenly it gets darker, uglier and before you know it you’re about to experience hell. Hell inside a maze.
“Please wake me up. His pull held me captive so tight.” A voice echoed with a blur.
I can’t grasp whose is it. Ever since I came here, I hardly recognize who I am.
Bridges burnt in Winter rain
Holds a saddened felt refrain,
Holds a touch of muted horn
Blown in passion unadorned.
Blown away in errant winds
Where no truthlessness rescinds,
Where a lie begat the night
Interceding lost love's plight.

Bridges burnt in Winter rain
Sacraments of loss remain,
Sacraments fragmented drift
Redemption clad in bloodied shift,
Redemption worn as wrong slays right
Till wrongfulness blots out the night,
Till no return this path can be
Until they torch eternity.*
M.
SE Reimer's words float before me in his impassioned poem "Bridges"
allowing me to wallow in this, my own dark tangential refrain.
M.

— The End —