a poem for today, 12 July 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of eight sentences and its image]
I believed it until believing broke so now I'm a trapped ghost like clouds in a box; this body, aging, aching, breaking.
But there’s a silver lining because I’m starting to think that others may share my fetish for sexy spectacles.
I suppose I consider killing myself dozens of times each week, though I never really counted.
Knowing the color of the sky is far more important than counting clouds.
Can I take that as an 'I don't know'.
Wow, I lost my train of thought here.
Cock harness dude here.