enfin's reality, writing

ballads and odes and tributes and petrichor.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

thank you ee cummings for making my life so much better with your carefully crafted words, your heart-to-hearts, and your finese.  i carry your heart in my heart.  my newest rendition:

but what brings you here so scarce,
so harsh, so cruel, so wretched and putrid,
and what brings you to my stoop, where you bow your head,
with sadness, and sorrow, and pity, and remorse.
out of your mouth spews a black goo of egocentricity,
and a jargon of a braggadocio.
your face twists and contorts roughly,
almost to the point where its unbearable to see,
because the see-er is effected by your toxins.
your sympathy, a facade perhaps?
slithering through, trying to find a crevice in which you may manifest,
where you may gnaw relentlessly at my mind, and my spirit, at my heart.
absorbing every bit of positivity i may hope for.
taking my life away, making slashes at the seams,
ripping out my resolves,
burning my ambitions for a form of fuel.
into the world you go- barebacked and hungry,
lonely and abandonned for once and at last.
be gone, and don’t return, be foul, and expect the worst.
to dabble, to die, and most of all to wither,
like a violet in the snow, quickly, rapidly,
without a thought.  dig yourself a trench, and fill it with your dreams,
burrow where you won’t be found, and become the person you should be.
evolve. make. despair. propogate.


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