dark, fragmented, an unknown cause
Where’s the why?
What’s the how?
When was the when?
Questions re-surface again and again, blisters of a blind faith lost
with answers that mean little to nothing, because it’s all shit
But where is the truth?
and the truth turns into it
With my back against the wall, I fight a blackened and diseased system
I kick, and I scream for ice
to soothe a bursting violet bruise, an ever so slightly discoloured rip in the delicate epidermis
And I bleed.
thick, tepid and red,
And for the blessed life of me, I just can’t stop . . .