post one hundred

your words circle my mind like terrorists. . . gunmen heavy at the door and all i see are tears. life or death seem meaningless - i am nonexistent. i am pinned, an angry wasp, entirely guilty in all of my innocence. in this crysalis, i shake in terror that i may rot and wither on the branch. i will never again snap a new bud off of a tree in the spring, now i know the horror of it. why do i quake in the face of the mean wind? how did i lose the source of strength? strength is only true when it is tested, though what is it when it quivers, wavers, fades? cowers. I cower in my innocene...i flake like a diamond...am shredded to my black coal heart. my ego is lost and i do not miss it. i do, however, still possess all of its memories. they torment me. i need to go away and scatter the ashes over an ocean. my biggest fear. .? . . my ego was the writer i wanted to be. now that it is gone, i know me not. i am desireless and want only purity.