Salt burns on open wounds.

I can't compete.
The water is freezing.
The innocuous scoffing of fresh wounds.
A Gaping hole in the desperate heart.
it laughs at me.
Salt burns.
Salt burns.
Salt from wounded eyes burn the open flesh.

The wall became holy.
Blood stained impressions
Agonizing fists and retreating feelings.
The ire of barbarians
The sensibilities of philistines.
I regret having known truth.
I regret knowing better.


I wish the sky was falling.
I wish the earth crashed faster.
Tomorrow...
the last day of this forty day tirade.
MY heaven remember the cries of the damned and may I know nothing more of this nonsense.

The frustrated holler of hounds scrap the night sky and breaks its silence.
I cannot compete with them.