Albert Witz

I Wrote This During A Test

Love may come and go. A life of lost love fits my person like a glove. My body aches with the dream of one day finding what has been searching for me. I know that eventually we'll succeed, after all of our failures, we become human. After we become human, only then shall we become anything more than a slightly substantial sibling of shit slinging, tree swingers.

My ability to assess the situations I face has not yet gone. I keep my hope chained to a post, a picket fence surrounds the yard of my soul. Trapped inside, lock on the gate. This claustrophobic catastrophe can't begin to cauterize my cuts. Red from struggle, I cuddle this puddle surrounding my body. Bleeding, screams pierce the night with a chill reminiscent of a Russian winter. I die with 360 degrees of metaphor, encompassed by this red ring, I cling to the dream that within the coming weeks, I'll be reborn. A refurbished entity, recalled for repairs. My soul is an xbox.

Submitted: Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Edited: Wednesday, June 13, 2012

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