The crew sat silently in a room with blank walls and one television playing football.
While on the other side of the universe their spouses lounged in a beige wonderland.
Who would have imagined one day the screaming would lead to betrayal of the one sense that does not exist.
She got stitches on her soul where he tore her apart, he used scissors to cut them open.
But who stands on a pedestal and lets their heart bleed out all the words they long to say?
But who cuts themselves open with a rusty knife infected with the pain of all the others,
Just to say they did it for you.
She instead watched from this beige wonderland, lounging and laughing
Her heart shrink down to the size of his. To become a pebble. Hard as a rock, small as a fly.
Crying tears to narrate the nights when even one feeling was too much for her.

He ferociously chained himself to the wrong fence
Protesting a battle that never happened on a ground that never wept.
The fence was glad for company she kept the battle raging
The blind protester yelled and screamed and chained himself more tightly.
And the ground stained with blood of soldiers
Fruitless, scarred and dead
Watched the blind protester weep and watched the land smile at her instead.
The ******* limps towards the sea to drown before she dies.
As the land the protester missed did flee
From all the fences lies.
And weep she did the land did weep and lament the passing friend.
As the protester blindly yelled in pain until the very end.

You are standing on top of Holy ground
Because it's here that tears were seen crawling down her cheeks.
And emotions moved through her like tidal waves
Destroy simple pleasures.
Yes you are perched calmly on top of the place where her soul disappeared
Dissipated into smoke and flames
Danced towards heaven and hell with a passion unmatched by anything on earth.
Yet all you do is stand with your head down counting tiles.
Looking at the man in front of you waiting for him to move
Waiting for fifteen minutes to pass like an airplane passes through a cloud.
Waiting until you can go home to the life you've made for yourself.
You are standing on Holy ground.
Shield your eyes and take off your shoes before the power
Of the one tear shed for everything you are not.

I dare you.
For one month.
Find something perfect about yourself.
Not unique.
Not odd.
Not ugly.
Not weird.
Just perfect, in your eyes.
The only eyes that matter.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
So behold your own beauty.

I went to goodwill and took off my tights
Just to wear someone else's pants in a closet.
The shoes I bought were perfect but petite,
they didn't match my outfit anyway.
So I walked through the fire in heels and a dress
I got runs in my tights and blisters on my feet.
My chest littered with bug-bites from sleeping on the sidewalk.
Then we drank coffee and tea until 11,
getting phone calls from rehab and holding each other
Laughing because it was finally nighttime in hell
And our straws, and the stars, were all glowing.

I don't know any weak men, only boys.
Which is okay to be. But nothing to aspire to.
My preference is men. Men who need no one.
Men who don't love.
Love is for boys. Love is for girls.
On playgrounds, playing Mom and Dad
And lasting as long as Mom and Dad.
Men and women like. And want.
And when they must love, they lust
In the most passionate display of love Hollywood has ever
Been privileged not to destroy
With a *** domain name.
Men are boys who grow up and adjust to the needs
Of themselves as men who were once boys.
And let life direct them towards what they can become.
And then become it.
Men rise to the challenge while boys challenge it.
And while they are punched and beaten
Blood will not slow them down.
Men are not weak. Neither are boys.
But boys are not men. And boys are not for me.

At midnight I am not responsible
To fulfill your need for attention
Over and over again you tell me
I cry when I’m alone.
I feel sad
Everyone, no one, these are the people I have.
Your love is a selfish love.
You love to get love in return.
There is no self-sacrifice,
No inspiration from the truest of love
For the love you dish out.
I can tell you I love you,
But I can’t be your ring-tone.
Each time someone does not call to say
“I love you, you’re perfect, don’t worry”
I love because you’re amazing in your own spirit.
Hate, the likes of which, I have never known.
But I will not support,
I will not condone
Your selfish, needy, desperate love.

I would have asked you to sit with me,
But the truth is I prefer my own company.
It's certainly no reflection on the faux concern you tend to display
For the bags under my eyes
Delivered with as much subtlety as a musical theater major
Hinting at their next performance.
All while your face is glazed over checking your updates.
Mentally and physically in another world.
Yet politely trying.
I spent the past four hours talking to people
But not seeing them.
My sprained ankle suffocating inside my no slip shoes
Bending and breaking under the pressure of each turn and step
Right now all I want to do is rest it and watch people
While the October breeze blows my hair over my face.
So sorry you didn't get the invite.
But maybe next time.

Unpack your bags filled with hate and selfish thoughts.
Don't think because you've carried it thus far it will be bought.
You alone are the owner of the sin you hold so dear
And the desperate, hungry monster that you have brought with you here.

Don't think for one small second I will entertain your game.
You should know that from this party will only come more shame.
Satisfaction will never find you when you ask and never give.
Selfless is perfection, the only perfect way to live.

My burdens are my own, just as yours belong to you
You brought this disease along the way and to the end you have to do
What you meant to do along the way, to carry it in your pack.
To feed off what you do not have, to feed off what you lack.

But your hate has no place in my life, and still no place in my heart.
Of nurturing this selfishness I will not have a part.
I love you with a love so deep it's only fair to say
I will not help you feed your hate along our two lives ways.

I have three favorite things:
Coffee.
Whiskey.
The southwestern sun beating down on my bare shoulders.
And if one day I leave here
Don't let me forget to take the sun
And wash it in my sink.
So it shines brighter and brand new
On every cactus in the Sonoran Desert.
So it reaches all the way to Washington D.C.
One day while I'm reporting
About monkeys in suits running the playground
I'll feel it.
Take off my blazer and let that southwestern sun burn me red.
Then I'll go home.
Put some whiskey in my coffee.
And I'll be happy.

If moments between breaths were made of pure
Raw
Unaltered distance,
I would have cursed my own skin for standing between us when we had the chance.
Because now that the miles are filling up my lungs
My heart won't beat in rhythm
And every muscle aches to run back home.

He's still new.
Sipping on the same soda from the same restaurant after two years
Wearing the same shirt, same colors, same car. Two years later.
He has a new job-- new watch.
But the same haircut.
The same drunken goodnight kiss on the same mattress we've slept on after going to all of the same bars.
Paying with the same credit card, ordering the same food.
Falling asleep the same way.
But after two years
Every good morning feels so new, every good night so wonderful
And he still looks at me like I'm brand new every time.

I once stumbled upon a great beast of a tree
And I thought how like it is a man in this world.
From a seed this great tree grew from the ground
And his arms stretched where they once timidly curled.
I thought to myself how man is strong when storms blow his way
But, without nourishment, would shrivel to no more.
Like this great beast Man stands strong, protects and shades
Even when Man knows not what for.
Man's roots, his core, rely on the soil from which he grew
And to these things Man clings for life
A good man finds love in his mother and father
Or, if he's lucky, in the woman he calls wife.
A man is like a tree in the way that he stands tall
Even when everything around him slowly dies one-by-one
The might of a man can bring some to their knees
To some, he shines brighter than the summer sun.
A man is like a tree in the way that he is strong when he needs to be
Yet he knows when life is trying to make him drown
But often, though he stands and withers away
A man will not fall down.

I am not beautiful. Just simple.
Made plainly of laughter and tears.
I wear knit sweaters in the snow
Shorts in the heat
And a dress to church on Sundays.
I have no battle scars
I bear no cross
I am basic and mild.
But you are a hurricane
On the most beautiful beach I've ever seen.

Maybe
It's the 6th cup of coffee
I drank at four this afternoon.
The diet coke I bottled and sipped throughout the night.
Or the fact that I haven't eaten in two days.
But I haven't missed a single second these two days
Without the thought of you sprinting through my mind
And dropping my heart into my lungs.
And let me tell you,
It feels kinda nice.

Everyone wants to fall in love
But all I want is a pen and some tequila
And to remember every detail about the dream I had a couple of nights ago.
About a small ship in a big ocean
A castle with a maze of hallways.
Perplexing. Confusing. Invigorating.
Terrifying.
Then I can wake up and go to church,
Forget to check my texts again.
And wonder what it must be like to lose yourself in another person.
Then I'll write it down.

He is not the type of man who will remain ruined.
Or to let blood stop a fight.
He's not the type of man to stay silent
In corruption and leisure.
He's not the type of man to sit and think
He speaks. He yells. He growls.
He hunts and drinks. Throws the bad to the ground
And the good he leads with purpose.
He has the power.
On his own.
To make and to destroy.
He is not the type of man
To be any type of man.

The young are foolish and blind.
Pretending each figure looming over us is Jesus or Barack Obama
Whispering sweet infinities down our necks and into our ears.
"I want you. I want you. I want your body. I want you."
Everyone looks the same in the dark?
But the comfort of a panic attack suffocating you in silence doesn't happen with him.
So explain why, when satan throws me down, I'm supposed to pretend to want it.

I looked into her eyes and knew
She was looking at an angel
And reaching for the hand
of a soldier none of us could see.
Sometimes all that's left to do
Is close your eyes and wait
In memories and selfish tears
For mortality to softly return.
And while we sit around a hospital bed
sipping coffee out of plastic cups, waiting.
She's resting on the ***** of forever
Feasting at the table of the almighty.

I fell in love twice.
The first, a glorious trip over cheap champagne and the dreams of youth.
Tremendously child-like , desperately adult.
But nothing that burns so bright dies slowly without notice.
And I swore I would never love again.
The second, greatest love
Happened without intention
And saw into the future. And saw reality.
And was a great, great love.
Subtlety spread from an ember to a wildfire,
And I've learned that love hurts more as an ache
Than it ever could as an explosion,
And sometimes feels like loneliness.

There is a street somewhere in the world with snow and old lamp posts.
Where a man sits under a street light writing.
To no one in particular about nothing in particular
Waiting for a woman to pass him and steal his soul.
Because she is untamable and fierce. But quiet.
There's a notebook in her purse hidden under a flask and two unopened packs of cigarettes.
And she is **** beautiful.
Walking straight towards no where.
On an empty, *** hole filled road in the south.
Hoping to pass a street light covered in snow with a man sitting helplessly underneath
Who could really use two brand new packs of cigarettes
And a shot of whiskey.

Black coffee, closed book, no mystery.
She is defined.
A word in the dictionary with one line.
One tense.
One meaning.
She is the word you must look up to understand
But once you do.
You know her.
Like the north star you know her.
Why she shines, where she is.
Why she cries and who she smiles for.
Perhaps one day
Someone will look her up.
And make an honest woman out of her.
But until then she is nothing but black coffee, closed books.
And mystery.

His heart does not belong to you. He is a poet.
Don't you know they only love words?
Love, yes love, he lives and breathes and writes love letters
About your brown hair around your neck, and the gold he found in your eyes.
Maybe the way you smile more with one side
Or other things, perhaps, about you he believes he loves.
But it's not you he loves, and you must realize this now.
He only loves words. He is a poet. He only loves words.
He's not looking for any heaven he can spend with you
Because he's already found it in that cup of tea he sipped
At the coffee shop around the block
Where he sat, and listened, and watched, and thought
Of the words he loves more than you.

I'm not sure whether it's your name
Or the voice surrounding it that makes it so beautiful,
But it is as close to perfection as I've ever seen.

He used to walk with his head down,
Eyes on the ground sheltered by black lenses
Brick walls covering the window to his soul.
He barely even walked,
trudged really.
Like he was making his way through a swamp of ***** things
Things he wanted nothing to do with.
He deafened himself with his music
So he couldn't even hear the filthy creatures that taunted him.
Tennis shoes or moccasins, didn't really matter,
He moved them one at a time, step-by-step,
Carefully choosing the route that would leave him most alone,
So he could wonder to himself why no one loved him.
I've never seen his eyes, but I've looked into his soul
And though he's never spoken a word to me
I understand his heart.
He's let it be so, that people can see,
That he maims himself out of love
And though he is still blinded by walls,
And deafened by music
He now walks with his arms open, his head up,
His heart vulnerable.
He is a book you have to take from the shelf and open for yourself.
No cover art, no summary on the back,
But the greatest book you will ever read
Nonetheless

February is tomorrow
Is October and is yesterday.
The winds start to chill and I can't find sleep.
So I'll walk down the dark streets to the corner
And wait for nothing and no one.

Silence greets the drifter as she steps lightly on the cement
Hoping to create a footprint deep enough to leave a mark.
But instead creating a slight wind that taps windows of sleeping scouts
Dreaming of leaving. Waking to nothing.

Sleep can't find the wicked and the wicked can't find sleep.
Insomnia strikes again and this time
It may stay.

There is one American word
To describe the relationship
Between a mother and a daughter
A pair of lovers
A young boy and his puppy
A CEO and his paycheck
The sun and the moon
Me and these words.
It's an American fallacy to believe
That what can be bonded by blood
Can be consummated in the bedroom
Or born of thought
What can die in a moment
Is immortal, infinite generations old.
There is no one word with shoulders powerful enough for that kind of weight.

Hate me.
Like every word I've uttered has cursed your name.
Every laugh has been at your expense.
Every smile a plot against you.
Even before I met you I want you to hate me.
My life has led to you.
And now we're sitting in a room
While you're silently seething, burning
With this awkward attempt at che sera, at live and let live,
At Apathy.
You know how I hate that.
I told you to hate me!
Do so! In the grandest display of passionate fury to be trapped inside of these four walls.
Make your words fly like daggers towards my very life
And blaze and scorch the very skin I use for protection.
Throw me to the wall with a growl in your voice that makes everything inside of me
Tremble.
And I will disappear.
I have patiently waited for your hatred.
Since you first looked into my eyes and told me.
So long as the sun rises and sets I will continue to wait.
So just hate me loudly already.

I like the taste of old coffee between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.
Just how I like the blast of the a/c on a hot June afternoon.
And sitting on the porch looking at the city when the sun finally sets on these summer nights,
A tea in one hand and a book in the other,
With a mosquito swarming somewhere near my ear while its friends nibble at my ankles.
I like candles and hot showers and waking up after the sun to find out it's still only six am.
But even if you don't like all of these things too,
I still like you in the summertime.

I'll be your Roseanna
If you be my Jonesie.
Let's go outside to the edge of the river.
Where the television hides behind a thick sheet of glass
And the water stays cool.
Keep the lights off
And we can let the moon take care of
Everything.
We'll stay by the pool where we belong
Dip our toes in the chlorine
Shimmy down into whatever we've got left
And dive right in.
The Lord can see us.
But no one else can.

Pass the bottle over to me
I'll show you how to have fun
And live like tomorrow doesn't exist
Like heaven is waiting beyond the stars.
Pass me the bottle
So we can make a toast to love
We find at the bottom of Jack Daniels
Or at the top of the world.
It's the same thing really.
Like a Ferris Wheel with a sweetheart
A swim in the moonlight
Drunk off of the smell of flowers and candy in the air
We can take over the world with just one bottle
Maybe two if we're lucky
Pass me the bottle
And I'll drink away the real poison
Drink after you the antidote
To a dull existence
Pass the bottle over to me
And we'll touch the moon and set the sun on fire.

Five, four, three, two... too late.
For any of this. Too late for anything
Too late for love, too late for lust.
The park smells like emptiness every morning
Feels like rain on a perfect day.
I hate the rain.
Dripping on my glasses.
I hate you. Running through my mind.
Five, six, seven, eight... hate this thinking of you
All the time. Nothing but your lips
On my neck,
You're hands wrapped around mine and me
Making up stories about who I am
And you. Already. Leaving. Without me.
Because crazy is contagious. And that's what I am.
And you're afraid of me.
And I'm afraid of me too.
But all that counts is us counting down
To when it'll all
Be. Positive. Again.
So drive away and don't look back.
I'll walk home in this rain.
One day you'll count on me.

A small child once swam up to me
While I was drowning and gasping for breath
And asked.
Kindly.
Be my friend?
Without responding I looked at her,
And ignored her
To continue with my flailing in the shallow water.
And it took me until now,
And until later
To realize the deepness of the water was in my mind.
That she had not swam to me but walked
With water around her ankles
Her ankles alone.
So now I'm standing
In shallow water
With a friend, who has waited
And waited
For me to realize there was never any water at all.
None at all.

Breathe.
In and out. In and out.
And let the tide wash over you.
You cannot:
Run away.
Go backwards.
Regret.
Or take back.
You can only breathe
And wait.
Until the tide washes over you.
Until the wind stops blowing.
Until the rain stops pouring.
You can only close your eyes.
You can only breathe.

I loved the scars on his hands
From when he baptized himself in a pile of dirt on a playground.
Reaching before knowing, like he always did.
Once grabbing hold of me
And I loved him.
His eyes may not have been beautiful, but his soul was.
Like that same boy who dove headfirst into the dirt his spirit shone through his crooked smile
And lanky gait.
It was love because I could see his heart,
It hurt because he stole mine.
Out of my hands rough and calloused from testing before reaching
And my chest fresh from being freezer-packed for years.
It was love because it tested boundaries that didn't exist until we found them
I know it was love.
I hope it was love.

He was writing the greatest love letter of all time
Because, he said, it was about the greatest woman to walk the Earth
And how she single-handedly melted the world and buckled knees with her stare.
Had a smile that made you feel things with senses you couldn't begin to understand.
He was writing her a love letter with words
That were the most horribly inadequate words to describe her.
Words like beautiful, special, life-changing, perfect.
The love letter he would never finish because of her brilliance.
A love letter thrown away when he saw her holding hands with a man.
And replaced with tears and floral arrangements.
The greatest love note ever written became his entire life
Left in a box
Six feet underground.

I am so bruised and broken.
So betrayed by my own soul.
My mind partners with the forces
that keep me from being whole.
And I remember being happy-
Even happy to be sad
But there's nothing in my heart now,
My spirit has gone bad.
I long to be the one,
To be perfect in someone's eyes
Someone who sees me for who I am
And shows me how to fly
I wish I could make mistakes again
Because I could have a reason to remorse
To myself I can't apologize,
My edges are too coarse.
I love so free and open
I fall so hard, so fast
For things that break and shatter
For things I know won't last.
I see only good in people
But only bad in me
Because I work so hard to achieve something
I know I cannot be.

A woman seeks guidance, but never direction
Because in matters of importance she knows
That though she loves with the innocence of a child
She will never forget her scars and her woes.
And her soft hands that you hold onto for dear life
Are covered with blisters and stories you will never hear.
You don't want to know that you need her soft hands
To drive away everything you secretly fear.
A woman dances ballet in each step she takes
And she never speaks, but each word she only sings.
Because a woman knows you need her sweetness
And rely on the peace her song brings.
Beneath her dress she wears armor
She knows her heart would be safer gathering dust.
Yet she gives freely her love, smiles and laughter
And, too often, her precious trust.
She is a dangerous warrior
With a spirit timid and fee.
A woman's love is a treasure
Much rarer than it seems to be.

Because there's no silence in my world
Or peace,
It does not stop here.
The noise, drops of rain and
Screeching tires,
So visibly loud
I can't sleep in my own bed,
Do not
Stop
Growing
Living
Existing,
Here.

Timid as she was, a mouse holed down six feet in the ground hiding
From the snake he was. From the beast he was.
She found herself a fascinated corpse of desire and anguish.
A man five foot ten. Standing six feet off the ground. Staring at her through the water.
Asking her what. Asking her why. Asking her emptiness.
Look at me. Face me. Do you not know what I want.
He would not wrestle her to the ground she was already a part of, covered in worms and critters.
He would not hold any part of her tenderly, gently, sweetly.
He would only face her and stare into her eyes, barely brushing his lips against hers slowly.
At first slowly, at first timidly. At first almost sweetly.
And then she turned away from the emptiness in his eyes.

I have prayed
I have prayed and have cried
Each day I've fruitlessly fallen and tried
Again to get back up
And it seems the only truth I know
There is no truth in me
Redemption-less I seem to be
Like a born blind man squinting to see
Something transparent anyways.
My imperfections will define me
regulate my life
So those with less drive and strife
Cut through their struggles like a knife
While repetitively I beat mine
With a weak fist.
Was there a message I missed?
Is my downfall my own fault?
Will success ever opt to be mine?
Or
Am I doomed forever to fail.

See there's this guy that keeps me up at night.
He sits in the corner of my room-
Not on the floor, not on the ceiling, but just hovering there-
Just above my dresser.
And he just waltzes into my dreams.
And he says to me "Kasey, you know why I'm here."
Sometimes he looks like a woman without a face.
Sometimes like a child.
Sometimes he's a soldier or my father or my mother.
So I wake up. And I think.
About my Grandparents being married for sixty years
About working for that long at loving another person.
I think about who I am and who I want to be.
And where I'm going how I'm getting there.
All the while he's still hovering in the corner of my room
Telling me "Kasey, you know why I'm here."
And I won't leave you alone until you understand.
That to the left there is a path and to the right another
And one above you and one below you.
Through you and throughout you.
And there's no medium for which to make a choice
But your own two hands.
And you'll get up and write at three in the morning
For people who just don't care.
About things they don't care about.
And your migraine will not go away.
You know why I'm here, Kasey.
"You know why I'm here."

For what it's worth it wasn't worth it.
I gambled with my pain.
What's worse I threw your feelings in
and lost more than my gain.
I was secure and happy
Now I'm closed and obsolete.
I thought I'd trust some handsome fool
Who then kicked me to the street.
I dragged your heart into this mess
In one day I lost you too
for someone who was shinier
who glittered like brand new.
And now my heart is broken
Handled one too many times
By people who couldn't give a ****
I was pennies to their dimes.
So for that I say I'm sorry
If I could take it back I would
Of all that came from this mess
Not a single thing was good.
If I could see you one more time
I'd tell you straight and true
That he may have been adventure
But home is always you.

You didn't leave me
but you let me go.
Now here I am wanting to take back time
And you don't even know.
I need to tell you
but you won't talk to me
You're too busy to take the time
To watch what you should be able to see.
It's me holding a sign
It says I Still Love You
I would do anything for you
And I wish you knew.

An old man knocked on my door and gave me flowers
He said "darling keep these forever" and he walked away.
So I sat and wondered about the death of these flowers I was told to keep forever
And I put them in a vase and slept.
When I awoke I was an old woman with a house made entirely out of roses
With the old man sitting next to me.
"I see you got the roses.
The ones I always meant to give you when I first saw you."
I could see in his eyes that I'd always loved him.
And that we were young.

More often than you would expect
But far less often than I'd like
I find myself in the company of the hands of time.
Each frequently infrequent encounter he tells me stories that are otherwise uninteresting and uneventful
But with him they are incomparable
And the passing of time goes far too quickly.
He doesn't realize who he is.
And I cannot be the one to tell him
That he controls the months and weeks and days with his voice.
And it's up to him how many seconds have passed since the beginning and until the end.
So I just sit and listen and laugh
and smile and cry
One becomes five, and five becomes four.
And on and on time flies.
Saying nothing, or saying little.
I'm afraid I'll ruin his magic.
Time will not speed up for me, nor will it slow down.
Only for him.
And only in his company.

First, an introduction
As you know my name is Kasey Shores. As you don't know I'm a student at the University of Arizona. I'm fairly studious, love to write and am a serial intern. I love to work.
I have been so blessed to have so many wonderfully talented people on this website follow me, like my poems and encourage my work. For that I thank each and every one of you.
Now, a note.
One of my many jobs is as a campus representative for a great company called Serengetee. They buy fabrics from around the world and sell them as pocket shirts. "Frocket shirts" as my good friend calls them. This company is charitable, supporting over 50 causes in 50 countries.
A Request
As a representative I'm asked to complete a rep project. I wanted to do something I could excel at. I wanted to incorporate poetry.
So I've created the collection Words of the World, which is under my collections and is entirely public. Each poem I post is inspired by a fabric and a cause.
I would very much appreciate if you would all consider following the collection and contributing based on your own Serengetee inspiration or any act of kindness. It's a collection about the world, for the world, helping the world.
Thank you all!

They say that time will heal all wounds but time will never pass
A year I spent in love with you who promised we would last.
You promised me with all your heart you’d love me till I died.
And when I passed you’d love me still, and visit where I lied.
You held me in tightly when we met, even if we met in dreams
You promised me forever without knowing what itmeans.
You told me I was perfect, you told me everyday
You would love nobody more than me. That’s what you’d always say.
You wanted me to be better than I was, you wanted what was best.
I couldn’t be perfect for you; I tried and failed that test.
I couldn’t keep on feeling like you were slipping from my hands
That your love for me was passing as an hourglass’s sands.
So I chose not to let you rule me, and for a while I was fine.
But I know you and I were meant to be, that we’d be back in time.
As time passed and I wished to speak you couldn’t find my place,
I was the puzzle piece of sky that didn’t have a place.
And so I lie inside my grave, where you swore you would come too
My spirit decays bit by bit as I remember you.
You’re eyes, your smile, your hands your mouth, your laugh and all my tears.
We will never meet again my love, you’ve moved onward with your years.

The magic inside of him is too powerful for her eyes to witness
Naked and innocent as they are.
There's a way his soul grinds and chafes against thoughts as they lay unprepared
That gets tested by question without answers and people without petitions.
There is no one path.
There is a single door locked fourteen times leading to a narrow, dry valley.
Deeper than the sea, lined with dust and maggots
He once crouched hysterically digging and clawing at the earth
In search of a power to great for a single body of flesh to inhabit.
Comfortably.