Saturday, June 20, 2009

Burn. Burning. Burnt.

Searching for the North Star,
my nocturnal compass,
scouring the earth for the
underground railroad leading
me to me,
only to be just as lost as before,
my sole souvenir from this
fruitless journey—
eyes blinded by lunar rays.
Lost. Searching for a map that
would lead me back to me,
instead I get lost in you,
and as I canvassed your
Valleys of Abuse, returning
with lacerations marking my body
like third-degree burns,
as would an incorrigible pyromaniac,
undeterred by your incendiary words
covering my ashen skin like
tattoos indelibly claiming me,
and despite your strong hand
clasping my neck, choking me,
objectifying me (success!),
I return, over and over and over
again. Burn. Burning. Burnt.

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