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Jan 2013
I'm afraid to slow down, as if loss of repetitiveness allows for sediments.

Mind races, paces.
         Over works its self in the wake of new faces.

I'm begging for acceptance to follow this direction.
                    Harvesting all this love, gaining gems of affection

Scarred and torn my flesh is my own,
                                                       I'm grown.

Up, I climb further into danger's soothing catacombs.

               The shells of un-fulfillment shed with precision.
I'm dreaming of blackouts with a blurred vision.
                                                            Stee­ping tea of poor decisions.

Wasted, wasting, weightless.

Repetitive, sediments, settling into broken dreams.
             Filling the corners of my mind, spilling hope,
                                                           ­        Tethering seams.
Amanda Blomquist
Written by
Amanda Blomquist
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