These hands are not worthy.
These eyes are not gracious enough to glance at the presence of grace itself.
This mind is too rigid. Too hard to manoeuvre imagination through overwrought tunnels of thought.
Trapped by the bars of self gratitude, these freezing walls close in to numb even the warmest of hearts.
I have not chosen this path.
This hollowness eats me.
So hollow i have become until i hear the echo of my heartbeat as it fights, claws to tear past my eardrums like slaves tunneling from missisipi to try and unearth a radiant future ahead.
Sunlight...
This hollowness gnaws beyond my flesh and disecting the marrow of my soul.
It taunts me.
It sparks my emotions like ciggarette burners and slowly separates the actions of my mind from those of my heart like chaff from grain.
Nursed to the rythm of pain, i knew the milk from the breasts of the world was poison and i had my immeasurable share.
My fingers know not what is real anymore.
I stroke the wind, trap emotions in my palm but the feel of the skin of a truthful woman evade me.
Truthful love evades me.
My fingers have stopped believing.
I knew what truth once tasted like. It tasted like freedom.
I knew how freedom tasted as i had tasted all other things this world paraded and they all tasted the same, until i tasted love.
Love felt like the clouds.
Beautiful and free but with the turn of an emotion, this...love, tore off its tumultuous mask to turn dark and savage.
How then is the taste of true love? How fresh shall its feel be compared to.
Is it as grave as those who fell by its kiss proclaim?
Is it as eloquent as distant authours and suitors profess? What then can i say of my feeble soul and heart as they stare sitting by the window of nostalgia.
This hollowness is a cancer that eats all emotion.
I have not chosen this path.
Love seems to turn the other cheek with a glance at my truth.
Can we say then that love and truth can not coincide?
Like poles of the soul?
I am at awe.
This hollowness eats me.
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