Each time the drive is suicide:
stepping into the chamber
and pushing the trigger to the floor,
blowing my heart
all over the inside of my chest,
and leaving me a little less
than when I arrived.
I know I’ll do it again,
over and over
until I can finally stop the charade,
the cyclical life I lead
between two worlds
that’s both damning and amazing,
the pull of parallel universe.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Poem-A-Day: Day 325
Miles Ago
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Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.