Journal of Inside Words

So long on this wrenched road I've walk

Pains gone from the shards of glass and bits of metal in my feet

And the pinch and pull of rips from movement barely register from the dried patches of deep red scabs all over me.

.

To call numb a feeling is ironic

Irony having lost its comedic glow

From ironic to being "just how things go".

I've emboded failure and tasted regret

But that taste left in my mouth

Is washed away by cigarettes

Exhaling into the vacuum packed atmosphere.

A stinging twinge with a dawning thought that dances near my anterior mind.

That love and joy and life divine are lost to me in my mental fortress and isolating mental autonomy.

I owe life an apology.