The Sin/King

I started my writing,
With ice as its center piece
Depressive
Suggestive
The lines were never all of me

Years later,
My words are like fire in a coal mine
But with no smoke in the furnace
The sinking flame in blackness dies

Direction
Unclear
For most of my years
Opiates and stimulants
The sin-king knows no fear

But now I’ve tethered my meaning
Now watch them mean clearly
My perception is locked in
My instinct assaulting

I’ve captured the essence
Stripped it of its shrunken form
Applied feeling to leanings
And made my brain worth so much more

My mind wanders back
I barely recognise me
With resolve I persist
I nearly sanitized me

No more questions
Just directions
Which one is it?

Anywhere I see.

Which one isn’t?

Anytime I need.

Which one fruitful?

Anything I breathe.

Which one in the prism?
Which one is the touching vision?

My face falls silent

Tunnel vision

Progress has becomeĀ the schism

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