Remains

To the last, I’m rosy; with so much left to give, and not one inch comes undeserved. I’m left perturbed I can’t give more or draw this scene for evermore.

It’s time. My line will be blunt; what use is there in fabrication, dressing up an ugly truth, or pretending coal is gold? I’m old enough to live life better, to play love smarter, and know to be kinder…

* interrupted. Days have passed since last I cast this thought toward the rock I caught my net upon; another gone, forget and long for yesteryear when truth-be-out was without fear.

The line remains upon my tongue; sung, flung, wrung n’ hung – the line remains, the fire remains and stains disdain into refrains that sing like stings before they’ve stung, like pins in skin and lightning lungs – the line remains upon my tongue.