Maiden in the ashes
Robed in silk
Robbed of milk
No mark on your tender skin
No sign of turmoil within
The coal does not yet scorch your soul
...
You walk your delicate path
Bearing the sightly, brightly beaten cut bloom of spring
Luscious petals not yet knowing
They will drop from the stem
No seeds to plant, and not her fault
the only water here tainted with salt
And the ground is hard, turned up in its roots
Do you know the path you tread does not want you?
Do you not yet feel the cut of stone or burn on coal?
Or does this black earth need your bloodstained steps as much as you need to bleed them
Is it possible for one woman's blood to nourish this dead soil back to life?
And one woman's love to seed them

If It works, it can

be satisfying to glue --


something together.

I have a store full
of old things, it is difficult
to ensure

that they are not sold
to snobs with no idea
of their real value

without the slightest idea
that it cannot be expressed
in their money

only in tax money, annually
to be collected for maintenance
and everything that comes with it

to have the works viewed
by those who are interested
and that can be anyone

which is hard to accept
for barbarians who get rich
from constant replacement

It's all very overwhelming.


It's like an acid trip.


There are a lot of colors. There are a lot of sounds.


There's a certain serenity in that trip state.


There's too much happening.


Focus on the colors. Focus on the sounds.


What about my rationale?


Let the waves roll over you.


This is too much.

Give in.

No. I have to keep going.

Focus on the vibration of your essence.

I can't handle this.
I have to shut down.
I have to preserve.

Go numb.
Prioritize Preservation.

Your hate
I need that
Your emasculation
Fulfils me
Your unaccountabilty
Don't worry I'm responsible
That ***
I'm going to kiss that
That knife in my back
It's all good I can heal
Your pain and struggles
Blame it all on me

Why, is the superfluous one.
What, is unnecessary, too.
How & When & Where, then,
are inescapable.
     If you act on instinct,
how far will you go to self preserve?
When will you break?
Where will you turn?

Is it your self you'd extinguish,
or is it the other flames?
There can be only one,
but the prize is: death comes
down the path of least resistance
to take a multitude of shapes.

     As for my body,
nothing much to lose,
nothing left to save.

As for my body,
nothing much to lose,
nothing left to save.

To walk away from the person you love
because the relationship is unhealthy
takes so much courage
So to the women
and the men
who have chosen
to save themselves
I am so
proud
of you.