Friday, July 8, 2016

Cure, sin... and more time

Voices lost in the vague remembrance of the past, but a muted echo of them remains. And I treasure a river of forgotten voices… in my storm of the soul which blows ferociously with vengeance of women, cleaning these bones from my flesh. And all I have left are my bones…

The heart says no when the brain says yes. And I reach that point, all hairs go instantly gray, face wrinkles in pain, and heart stops in dry cry. When there is life without future, when worlds face the end of love. And my wretched soul always has to say no…

The childhood of my existence is every woman, spiraling in these dynamics of my life, chaotically jumbled by choice and it has to stay exactly like that, untidy and confused… when this soul doesn’t need peace or absolution; it needs: cure, sin... and more time.

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