I became trapped in my own selfish misery. I once held onto hope. Positioned as a shiny metal object, glistening in the sun, it promised better days. I prayed to it. Ran my fingers over the smooth surface. Worshiped the image broadcast back to my heart.
I learned that day about rust as tears flowed. Death approaches angrily, despite appearances. I wish i hadn’t fallen so hard. Knives are all too predictable. Perhaps there is the lesson. Learn all you can before you are trapped.
seasons: a poetic journey 
Indeed. Was the trap your design?
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Good question. 😣 No answer. Not yet.
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mmmmm……. I see!
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Mainly because i am lazy to search deep. I skim the essence, the first layer satisfying. I need encouragement and inspiration to dive as i am claustrophobic in words packed closely and thickly settled.
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Ah!
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