SELF-INFLICTION

I scoop this body from its mind, and
on the cusp of extinction, it wails;
insane, lost, romanticising surrender.
Perhaps, my arm the mast, this tissue the flag,
perhaps at last I will tire of this terrorism
and sign on again
for a new amendment of love.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 October, 2017

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