cellosong: (sigh)
[personal profile] cellosong
Secretly, I am one hundred razor shards waiting
to fly violently away from the pure, harsh tone
that is the center of my soul. I am one hundred
silent fingers scrabbling at stones, panting
scratch-grooves to tell the airless story they are
living, each afraid of the dark, afraid of the
space, afraid that they will be the last
marker, that turning to their ninety-nine brothers
will yield nothing but the relentless pure tone
and the shattering of glass.


---


I feel like I'm in a place where I have nothing to contribute but vitriol. Biting, nasty, cruel, sarcastic; any moment equidistant from flying into a rage, a panic, a crushing and angry destructive mess. Its fingers are in my shoulders in every muscle, my head is spinning with it--I feel out of control.

Time for a bath in the dark, I think.

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cellosong

January 2011

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