First prose I've written in over seven years
PROSE of late may, rainy day
I am internalized, with shallow breath, thin oxygen, not much left. INTERNALIZE, all these self-fed lies. A Hollow death and the air so thick thoughts can be touched again. I have a gift to glamorize, make it easy, make it cool, sensationalize. My deadly stealth muted assassin. My sacred connections, family and friends, their ghosts arise. In front of my eyes, they materialize. These apparitions look at me funny and kill my fearless attitude inside. My vision warped unnaturally bends. My determination to not die. My resolve to do more than try. To change the external from within. To reach out and seize the day, from a soul hopelessly trapped again. An introvert incarcerated in himself, surrounded and haunted in draped memory. A hermit tortured into indefinite future. A blitzkrieg attack, a brutally backbone breaking battery. Another addition, uncomfortable fact. The carnage, the savagery. The life of a man who has been ravaged, in a perpetual cycle.
Copyright © Joel Thornton | Year Posted 2015
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