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15 April 2010

Misspent, misspoken, misaligned.
I find that I am endless as the Night,
Boundless and untidy
Frayed with far too many jagged lines
To be conventionally me.

I am mismanaged,
Damaged and broken
Alone and endless as the Sea
Berated and bereaved
By a thousand moments,
Fathomless terrors of grief.

Like the whispers of winter
That punctuate pale dawns of autumn days
I look down my myriad pathways
And see only the choice between
The Queen’s substance and the Queen
And eternal confusion reigns supreme
In my soul once again.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. 15 April 2010 17:42

    *nods* I know this one by heart, though I’d never read the words.

    • 15 April 2010 18:41

      Indeed. After I posted this, I was catching you on your blog and read your post, Crying for Help, and I couldn’t help thinking that they speak to the same exact set of circumstances. Pray for me, my friend, and I for you.

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