Time is much in my thoughts these days... the inevitable passage of its reality. I watch from the narrow end of a telescope and see behind me the expanse of was going to do and one day's that litter the fractured path of my life. Excuses, justifications and lost possibilities brighten the patchwork of fabric, and I feel a poignant sadness as my fingers feel for the closed reality of their former promise. I lie back, pulling the quilt around my body, a slice of blade caught in the weaving cuts and bright blood trickles from the soft expanse of flesh.
I am surrounded, the me, the soul, id, the existential core of self that lies enveloped in smothering blankets of excess flesh and wonders how I was caught yet again. I look out from the pads of smothering revulsion and feel trapped, caught in a body I don't recognize nor wish to claim. That little mark..... the small blackness trapped in the blue-veined breast pulses and sends a soothing promise of nullity and cessation of pain.
Like a callus, I rub my shoulder against the shard of promise and revel in the clear, bright reality of pain it brings, illuminating for a moment the greyness of an existence lost in idle speculation and lack of will.