[«To feel our motion forward is impossible. Motion implies terminus; and how can terminus be felt before we have arrived?» — William James, Essays in radical empiricism.]
The caustic stain of guilt on once sterile hands.
I have gone numb in my conspiracy of one.
I am easily pleased, just a little time before I decline.
I need…
a purpose for these arms, a care to breed new life,
a purpose for these hands, a reason I need…
a reason to fall and a reason to dive.
It’s the wait I fear the most.
Set free mortal coil, come purest of pain.
A serious reality, elusive and free.
I breathe forgiveness in.
The other moment I found me in a chamber filled with irony.
Screaming, falling into grace for a moment only.