taffy death * 6/1/13

Inserted into the flypaper of accountability,

my lips, are forced to give storied attachments.

I have a bystander band of dock working listener ears,

tying me down with my own words.

I am then burdened

with others' rubber stamped appraisals and judgment.

Forcing me to make up invisible distances,

followed by the brunt of forcible detachment.

I am fighting through the anguish

of these undying moments with no reprieve,

no relief,       no endearments,

and therefore, no worth.

This is the living death that does not end

but refolds upon itself within me.

It is like a bitter blend

of the emotional taffy of me,

being stretched and wound around

on this three pole mechanical candy maker

of my reality mindset,

thus producing my taffy death,

at once cognitively chewable,

but emotionally,

laborious and unceasingly . . .