Tail.



Sometimes it feels like running up hill in bare feet on glass. Shards dig in and stick, some working their way deep into tissue, the soft underbelly of the sole/soul. Others lay niggling under the skin, rubbing with friction, like a gnawing, like teeth.

Drips of blood line the path trodden like an inventory of triumph and pain.Some drips more like blobs, some more like puddles. And pieces of skin, ragged and torn, litter the ?scape like leaves scattered on the wind.

Pain transcends. Light is dark and dark is light and purple spots appear where once there was blue sky.

Isn't it funny how when you look back, you see a trail that glitters and shines?

2003-07-03 7:01 p.m.