Lest I wax poetic on over-using syrup and warning strangers about cracked eggs, let me simplify and give you three more bitties from my handbag of originals:
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To burn in my own emotions.
To feel the heat on my face.
To writhe in the flames of regret,
To put out the anger with tears,
except enough water to work would take years.
To feed on the air of quickened breath.
To yearn instead for death.
Sometimes my sins eat me.
My flesh incinerates.
Learning the Tricks
Point one: Accepting the bad things when you know there will be good things to come after.
Point two: Knowing when it's okay to make a face that correlates to how you feel about what's going on.
Point three: Knowing when to keep your face straight.
This is how I see my breath,
how I know it's there.
But it's always there --
even when I don't know it,
don't see it.
I am often thoughtless.
I am always thoughtless.
I am sometimes thoughtful.
My body works without me knowing.
This world works without me knowing.
What else works?
What else is there?
The possibilities are like my breath.