The untouched grey areas of the human spirit. Those sacred shapes that exist for the confined and frustrated intellect to analyze, and feed back to said spirit. The things that only make sense when life is experienced without reservations. A love affair had, and then destroyed, by one or both. Fixed intent to improve on what is still yearned for, turned into a toxic obsession. Saliva spun into bitter poison. Stars meant to be gazed upon with childlike curiosity, looking like nothing more than scars that mirror the ones on my legs, my arms, my breasts.
I am bored of this recovery process I have embarked upon. I am clearing the mess in my fields, only to end up with barren land. There is nothing worth keeping. With no seeds to plant, I cannot find the value in continuing on the path I am on. Better to set up a tent, and live where I stand.