There's this storm stirring deep within the gutters of my soul. It dies on occasion. On this day in particular it began with a single but heavy memory. Then it poured. Each time it filled up, I emptied it in a fountain of tears. I swear it was agony disguised in long overdue torment. The kind of pain that rips up every tendon on the skeleton. I died a dreadful death. Steady and still. But let's discuss this grime that whirled above my soul. Everything crumbled. Who could build from this dilapidation. This dagger was in my mind. He didn't cut open my chest, no it was my mind. The slightest movement could end me. This wound refuses to be a scar.
©nkosi
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