Lows

No reason beyond chemistry, no dispute beyond the present, it clings like inevitability casting all thoughts into a cold, unflattering light.
Logic fails to alter reasoning that, in another time, would be viewed with unambiguous scorn.
This recurring form, obscured from view, threatens to irrevocably alter what little is left, insidious in it’s function.

Until this foul perception is cast aside by a greater epiphany; you have been gone.
Pressure released, pushing back the usurper; left bathed in confidence too bright to be understood.

A Phoenix once a month.

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Posted on September 4, 2012, in Written things. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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