These are the truth tools;
these which I use to torture myself.
The sharpening stone must be wet and
the tools sharp to hit home.

I think I’m insane,
or at the least,
not so far from that ledgefall
into hell or beyond.
Thanks be Gods.

No emotion,
but that needling hot nothingness
and a bucketload of tears and fears
with nowhere to direct them.

I have nothing to say because –

I have no control.

Nothing will change the inevitable.
I cannot change the inevitable.
I have no control over the inevitable.

And I fucking hate it.

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3 thoughts on “Wet Stone

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