Graphic art created with a vengeance.
That hand that reaches out and lifts up my skirt.
Tracing a line down my thigh and down my leg,
I’m kissed by that razor.
I missed that chill you send out with your presence.
A grip like a vice,
you ask once,
but you insist twice.
This avenue will self destruct.
It’s just a matter of time now.
Shedding the past,
sloughing off the old.
This new set of wings,
it’s breaking my back.
I’ve outgrown this sack.
It’s time to be born.
My self worth has suffered,
but my redemption has always been my best feature.
Inside this side of an hour,
and I’ve been on my knees again,
not begging,
not pleading,
but gracious.
I’m humbled by this again,
this life,
this time,
this hand of fate.
I’m enthralled by the irony.
it’s all I can do not to scream with every breath.
I heave,
I gag,
I swallow,
I grieve.


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