I am a soul gone to seed

I lit the candles and let the taste of the first sip of yet another cheap Côtes du Rhône melt with a deep inhale of strong cigarette in my head as I watched the rain fall on my windows. I undressed and got under warm water. Human body is a mean of creation, gives birth to senses and home to feelings, and gives justice to things we create out of heart.
In the middle of the night I eat Mirrors
|The dead Queen of Bohemia, Jenni Fagan|

The postman knows
I never sleep
jellied eels and champagne
I don’t need
the soul ache
the fear
stubble
too rough for sunlight
hours of feed
the world asleep
stroke cheek to nose
and cry
I am a soul
gone to seed
the fictional stories
we tell ourselves

when we want out

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Rain is… wet skin on human flesh warm like the sun on dry lips

© All of my photographs are Copyrighted and All Rights Reserved. They may not be used or reproduced publicly in any way without my written permission.

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