violets are blue, bruised, bashed, broken as i am.
sugar is sweet; the taste of saliva and the chocolate in my mouth that hasn't been swallowed...
but life with you; a guilt edged sword making its way down my back and up again,
the tip pointing precariously towards that soft skin at the back of my neck;
waiting. to boomerang, and then to take the plunge.
ok the above was just a play on words, really.... using the already over-used roses-are-red quatrain. i am in the middle of editing my manuscript for the umpteenth time and my protagonist pain must be poured out here so that it doesn't burn a hole in my skin. so there. thats done.
first and foremost title credit goes to freelance hero. it's these words that, although gleaned from arb chat, got the wordy juices flowing. simply put, what occurred to me is that, ego is our canon of survival and transient life, but it's also what stands in the way of the soul's yearnings and wishes to reach that Closeness to a Higher Power in whatever way one might make Him out to be.
it is true, though. indeed, we are too vain to die. i can't disagree with those words. death is far easily seen as the fore-written event that we will make our way towards. He who made must unmake. it won't be of our own accord. but I am wondering about self-destructive tendencies in other walks of life... or even in this dance between life and death. we're a bunch of narcissists really. there's little choice in denying it. and so the space for vanity is further exploded. little wonder there!
