In the quieting of night I sit in the company of demons pushing through my unmanageable mind... and like a vice, clutching my head fiercely to squeeze the unwanted debris consuming delicate space, I beg to discard the wildly persistent racket realizing, like terminal illness temporarily halting with diminutive hope, eventually it gnaws and gnaws, annihilating what was once unbroken. In moment's reflection my eyes fill with a reserve of hardened tears not shed from pitiless numbing,
then, acquiescing transfixed by the blackness of ebony sprinkled with electric flashes, I become a lustrous shooting star, a shot in the dark then lost again. ©Linda Balboni 2004
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