End of Rebirth, act 1
The searing sensations blast at every inch of blackened ash, stripping bare new red-bloated swollen flesh born again of distortion waves neglected yet petted in obscene childlike places of mindless achievements and abusive failure. Flaking aside former being and self-born nothing for a chance to do it one more time, no less painful or wise but possibly less destruction via self upon the torn aged flesh of this newborn adult-like creature of despairing hope. I feel, and with each surge comes electric fire, pain brandishing its own form of symbolic torment, all of it so healing, cleansing somehow in this agony. The rejuvenation of a dead soul, feeding it pain but not bitterness, not this time, no this revival comes from an understanding of that which suffers unto and because of me/it/us creature of mine. I slice new wounds for the sensation, fail intentionally to feel the defeat, breathe in every sensation like the first time of an old memory and is invigorating. Welcome to my show, I hope you stay long enough to help me die again.
this poem was featuresd in my profile for the last couple of months, and has now been retired.
this poem was featuresd in my profile for the last couple of months, and has now been retired.