MY OWN GOD TONIGHT
Fogged I am, and still I cannot clear my reflection from what I perceive
in my mind. The water is as cleansing as the voices in my head;
if you stop and listen closely, you will hear them too, beckoning
to the infinite ends. Still, I pause to recollect myself, lather and
reconnect myself –
I cannot dredge this razor into my cheek hard enough. My grief, like my
stubble, falls, only to grow back thicker by tomorrow’s end. Fogged,
and still this steam cannot obscure what I trick myself to comprehend.
On these voices beckon: You are your own god tonight.
© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.