Suffering

My soul is an agitated sore blister.
 Its garment weaves thistles and poison ivy
 tightly, wrapped to choke all of my senses.
Release my spirit
away from this self inflicted misery.
Wrap me in the cashmere nourishment
of philosophy;
Buddha & Jesus,
soften the grasp, break the delusions.
They cling as one may to youth
creating
a self decaying imposed hell;
for which there is no medicine
but there are doors and windows
within me. They've opened before,
with refreshingly new views.
p.malafronte (2007)