forgotten.

it’s tearing at my limbs. shooting ‘cross my belly. obscene. wicked. truthful.
obsession dies a faulty death only to rear up night after night. again. slight worry. remembrance of broken heart, wet limbs and absence. but the heart knows no limits. the hearts seeks only truth and with it, late night phone calls, dreams or words of sex and rebirth. if only there were answers. but questions, more, keep coming. and I have no response. I have heady words and eager hands and silence…
I can calm anger. I can live in love. I can claim beauty and death at once. I can stand still in this. I can engage chaos. I can be the answer, loose tongue and a wager on how long till this is all forgotten.