The lines
were the most
daunting thing about you:
vacant;
uninviting.

I willed
myself to fail
before the maiden inhalation:
defeatist;
self-destructive.

A whisper
of poly-syllabic
beauty at the back of my fragile mind:
affected;
invented.

A second blush
of monochromatic
doubts swimming in the pit of my stomach:
orphan;
carniverous.

And suddenly
the lines became
just another clean border around my nation of thought:
poetic;
released.

02/21/2007

Posted on 02/20/2007
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