The Help

"Blood, too much lost, excessive grips, don't hold on too much. Let it go!"

The snakes that bite your ankles are the worms that grow in your stomach. The expanding space within your forehead is the snare to your feet as it is the justice of your hand.

What is relentless? What is unyielding? Feigned to fielding-healing, I realized that estrangement connects deeply to bizarre behavior. The solace of your solitude becomes the longing of your heart. "Morrow". Will you see tomorrow as pain deals heavy sorrow, and your cards are collected, dissected, and rejected by logic well-respected? What will you exchange for knowledge? Will you sacrifice connection?

How can I outcast a pariah? I loved him dearly, yet a dark, heavy metal guards a burdened heart as clouds sink to the depths of the oceans. Peace? A disgrace was over-allowing and over-extending grace on a path overly advanced and far away from my heart's place.

Distant? Nostalgia reminisces and dark mercury that brings obscurity to forgiveness when mercy garments my sorrows. Thank you, God, for the intermission. Will blood not spill tomorrow?

Blatant, plaintive, starstruck eyes that gaze into the distant beyond is the neverland that haunts the icy silver plaid tongue sealed by the hands of astonishing accomplishment.

Arrogance feeds on the frightening sensation of " losing" loss; grain, breaded frost chips that inherited "chaos" grip and walk toward wanton destruction. A man motions forward, silently ignoring the cause of his suffering as he enjoys the entertainment of the war that begins and ends with an " it's not over. "

In the depths of his heart, a voice buried in a frosted trench yells without reaching. "Blood, too much lost, excessive grips, don't hold on too much. Let it go!