Tethered

Haven of all

Indignantly altered, 

Respite and soured, 

Brilliant and sore from spiraling upward towards a sun, streaked by man made weathering of skies

And all things below 

Naked in my cot, copied to tethered quilts, sliding into Copeland, and hyper dimensions for sleep, and dreaming. 

Tethered indeed to riveting cocktails and massacres of pride, and not all days I can wear my mask to face and play the charade of crowds. 

Coating old pipes of shallowed ware, the path of essence walks vividly, for myself to feel Into interpretation. 

Scorn and praise are sores on the soul in our bitter cynicism 

And yet bones that grow wings on our back- sheathes that yield strong density and shield. 

I could apologize endlessly, but who will apologize to me? Why weaken myself at the knees as though food to prey, surrendering. As though knots laying deep in the bedrock of my shoulder blades. 

I put it down last night. 

There was a deep chill in the winter air, and I closed the Windows, binding them at the middle, pulling the curtains 

To the oncoming season. 

Breakfast foretold lies, where words are tools toxic for Propaganda's point. 

The tongues of the righteous decieve, and we are all at war, in different forms of worshipping; some however do, 

Prefer darker forces. 

And all of us, seemed to have stepped into the acid trip of living. 

I love everything I touch. 

I will never apologize for this. For I am the hands of God, the way, another may be His heart, or Her breath, like a Gaia wind. 

Loving you never faulted me. Forgiving you, also is no must, for I share indeed the hand that suits journey's walked.  If I forgive you, it will come because I want to; neither because God "said", but because I felt to, and so I will. 

There is a death and a life that suits every man. Some of it written, some of it chance, some it it law. Most of it 

Mysterious. 

Breaking. 

Opening. 

Tethered, I sleep. 

Kneeled to you once, and now 

I sleep, thinking about my goodbye's to you . 

How the world has turned me cold, and I am returning your sentiments most angrily.

A woman's wrath, afterall.