Violet Crush

Disappointment in myself prevails.

I should know better.

I am the violet, they are the crush,

flinging stones at the target on my chest.

I am standing alone

on a morning to cold and rainy

to be this day,

the meaning of this experience rushing up against me

like the wind.

I can’t have everything,

and most certainly,

I can’t have what it is I really want;

that elusive new experience,

lusty and taunting,

teasing and daring.

Daring me to sabotage everything.

Yes. I am the violet,

they are the  crush,

hurting me

because I let them,

when all I want is to feel different,

and not trapped

in this sagging decaying flesh.

I want in a helpless way

that is also selfish.

I am always starving

because I require everything.

I would cry if I could.

I would scream

if I thought that in so doing

I could void myself of this emptiness,

and the sensation

that everything I feel

is caught in an eternal free fall

within me.

I am a violet specter,

shimmering in every lilac shade and hue,

and time is crushing me.

 

 

 

 

 

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