Black Veils and Plaster
For the most part, the lost years were self-inflicted.
The foundation was made of hypersensitivity.
Which had a foundation of insecurity.
Which had a foundation of instability.
Which, in turn, was born within
the whisper of a black veil.
The hypersensitivity was replaced by wet plaster,
Allowing for the smoothing of the wrinkles of living.
I'm slowly coming around now, back into the light of the light.
Its and absurdly cautious plight...
I've yet to master the fine art of happiness.
Every moment an exhausting sparring match.
With black veils and battle axes.
Thank God that plaster is very slow to dry.
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