Glory-hole in the soul ....

This is going to be pretty smooth sailing from now on … the blissful retreat of the residual hours can be spent sinking into the often tiring and rarely enterprising scavenger hunts through my echoing mind. The weight of responsibilities to self, circumstance and futures ill-conceived falls on the folds of synaptic pit stops. The heart beats as one… alone in vision and warmth, not fused in unison of feelings. The hands ache in earnest yearning to etch vengeful escapades onto the corridors of celestial residue. And the eyes… few may have seen or have imagined what the lid paints upon the fabric of processing vision as it slithers repeatedly over the white and the lens. The looking glass; the proverbial crystal ball which reveals more as it is peered into rather than what it gazes upon. Such is the state of affairs… this is the new diary of soul. Scribbled and scathed on by many but suffered, felt and enjoyed by only me as it runs through the cavalcade of undoing inside. This is the new diary of my soul.