"It’s not hard to create, not harder than it is to cremate. Destroy to rebuild, who gave me the right to relate? I’ll deploy the guilt, it’s who lives inside this ribcage. Authority within, Apology missing… Feeling a bit under the weather lately, maybe coz I’m feeling lit about what matters innately. What’s the next poem, where’s my nest home, what’s the last hope? I’m vexed, so let me ask the Pope, are you the best? Nope. Or should I turn it into a rope and pray? Can’t do that without thinking of the hangings, it hurts so I clear my throat…
nay, can’t do that when you’re sinking from the angering. I’m recluse so I
put my faith on my Refuge piously and conclude. The page is now my deluge and the siren is left confused…"
mvr©k
