Friday, February 25, 2011

The Zenith

When that tormenting red sun reached has its peak, I find that I forget myself as I am savaged by the dread heat of its hateful rays. My strength withered, I run to shelter. I want, I forget, to stand in that scorching judgment, to feel the blistering grace of an angered god beat down upon me. I want, I forget, for my body to do what it does. I forget and I fear, for heat has numbed my mind. It takes so long, it seems, for my skin to open up and cleanse itself. I forget, and I run to mild, meek shelter. This shade does not stand against the burning ghosts in pride but spirits me away to mirthful shelter in infancy. I forget, I forget, until I leave this murky cave, why I wanted this sweltering heat, why I came out here at highest noon, but the sun seems long past its prime as shadows stretch, signaling the dusk of my sorrow. I look at my skin and feel the living medium between myself and the world and find it clogged evermore with dirt ground into it from my time frolicking in that cave of banal mildness. No, I ventured out to sweat today, to purge from within the choking comedones of my spirit. Like God's vengeance, cull the filth with the everflowing Cleansing waters of hardship. But now, but now, this sun seems to be setting and I still stink of moldy childhood.

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