(no subject)

[disquisitionist]

Shame of self to put forth
to the world more of its venom
leached out
toxic turned neuron

Love is not shame.

To be afraid
to not understand
so much to be
misunderstood, and always
under a greater
more careless footprint.

I'd go away for a time
and make morose.

Oh yes, other things
filter beauty as I watch and listen
filling face with sweets and
dewy berry.

So much to have shame for
the ignorance
the apathy

and you?

for love?

And so,
tongues screeching to
tear apart bits of my flesh
were it not for my lover, instead.

The ways were there, all the imprints of
quick love, quick cum, dirty thoughts -
or all the things we, carelessly in self and shame
try to hide away between
particles of dust moaning and grey.

I found them
I sat there and waited my lifetime for
the flesh to rot and bear
something fresh
and untouched

the putrid becomes as sweet as spring rain
the intimations of affairs.