sigh

so, i have to resign myself to this sanctuary. because this is safe. here, my emotions can rollercoaster, and slip and slide around. they can be free, and alive. this cocoon of security that is writing. this open space that is my own, where there isnt criticism, or bias. no intolerance, or disagreement. only me, alone, with the impenitrable silence, and sercurity of public privacy. because it is private you know, i dont know you people. even if you do judge me, its ok. your licking my blood right now. your tasteing me, by reading this. this intimate openness of souls. my fingertips bleed the words into these keys. damn. no more metaphores of ink. i used to joke my veins bled ink. the inky pool of emotional suicide we all wish to surrender too. the longing to just exist as the note of a song, a breath of wind. to be pure. to give yourself up to the world and be rocked, as though on the ocean, in the arms of beauty. like a baby, so secure in gods embrace.

 

 

Reviews

[tarasov]

long versoin: wow.. this is really good. the utter outpoor of emotions. and the wonderful and plentiful metephore for ink...i love them all. the line "i used to joke my veins bled ink" was my favorite, maybe i'm a little biased theere because i joke about that too.. this is great it captures everything about writting a poem...short versoin: i loved it!