I dont speak out of self pity
Im only accutely aware of its many
wicked faces-
Im simply observant of my hearts
deepest desire to disappear;
it lies darkly, softly, ever so silently
alongside its brighter counterpart:
the desire for love.
The line that separates them
that subtle imaginary line
as these are merely concepts
created out of the necessity
of language;
that line which grows, ever so steadily
indistinct: Im afraid I might be too late
in arriving there.
rings in my pond 