doctor bruch

[aslant]

i ran away to the coop, to read books on the crimson couches. by chance picked up (and then was devoured utterly by) the golden cage which resonated to the point of pain. i stayed until i finished it, the slim green volume, its grim text of denial and asceticism.

it's sick, this brain. no enigma here: merely ill. i remind myself of the sharp corners turned in july, when i caved in, loved the skeleton that shone through the skin. craving something to fill the bowl of my hips, love if not nourishment, if not nutrition.

Comments

[souvenant.livejournal.com]

[oh god. that book. yes]

Re:

[aslant.livejournal.com]

{it was strange to read about parts of my own inner workings. so exposing; nullifying.

and yet and yet,

i read as if words can fix anything. they don't. even i, devotee of les mots, know this. written poetics or rhetoric cann't smooth a single wrinkle of the day.}