I pretend I never had it.
That it is our little secret-me and the Noise.
Covered,Hidden,Safe.
Under sediments of an intangible mortar.
Sometimes distanced.
Rarely dissected.
Never displayed.
I protect it from the world,
So I can scratch it till it bleeds
So I can douse it with the salt from my eyes
In Private
I don't listen to its wails.
Brooks of Blood EXIT.
Pulsations of Pain ENTER.
Then I judge it.
Its magnificent.
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read the thomas hardy one too. yours is fabulous, better even than the old house that timorously pines one.
ReplyDeleteold house that timorously pines..wasnt that the one in the gosumag? or am i mistaken?
ReplyDeleteright.
ReplyDelete