Saturday, June 7, 2014

Grounds

The problem is not unhappiness. If it were unhappiness, I would leave it. 

The problem is in cloudless skies I do not know my own skin, in uncomplicated joy I forget the reason I came. If I let these demons go, I fear none of me would remain. 

So they linger in my folds. 
I wish they would devour me,
instead. 

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