Scars of past hurt have forced me to succumb to the serenity and solemness of solitude and actually enjoy the pleasantries of its company.
Envisioning that round silver circle of commitment backs me into a corner- gasping for breath and frantically searching for an exit.
I have to get out before I am in too deep, but looking below I realize I can no longer see my toes and the ground is inching its way up towards my ankles.
some how I break away. Not a scratch. Instantaneously I erase the memory and move forward in the direction I believe to be the willful road to destiny....
....Alone.
Is embracing solitude something to feel guilty of?
Has it made me numb to the finger pricks of love?
Somehow fear crept his way into my life and buried himself in a crevice of my heart that is impossible to reach.
He shows his face with the morning sun but when I try to catch him, he disappears, yet I still feel his spirit lingering.
Flailing arms, tongues of fire, hands of healing were once my so-called cure but still, my body remains plagued by this disease of self-doubt, distrust and inner hunger pangs for unfailing love.
I am almost convinced there is no such thing. And no such remedy.
Should I be quarantined for this? Something tells me I have already done such a thing to my very own heart.
Who can satisfy this hunger? Where is the healing that will tend to my needs and extract the bullet that pierced my heart and formed this hole of abandonment?
I cannot find it with mine eyes. My hands cannot contain its existence.
I'm lost. Searching with a map that continues to mislead me in figure eights.
Compass of truth, I must find you.
Until then, I look up to the north- it is the only way I know by heart.
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