There is nothing in this world but mist,
blanketing over exposed convulsions and…
lulling our lungs to calm against our raging will.
Calm is a universe,
so separate from this -me-
so presumably occupied that it is left to loneliness in Her sadistic romance.
Our eyes struggle to make home within our mist,
they remain closed in wakeful struggles –
never seeing the colors surrounding our often too narrow grey paths which;
in the arrest of guilty breaths all lead to one central eden.
received with so little resistance is often no more than a domesticated python.
So why not tame it?
Re-name it… make it yours… own it and see;
a python does not revel in eating souls as a hobby.