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Allie Edson

The Belief Of The Wick

Detached, unstipulated, under stimulated
With prejudice, I demand to be filled
Alas, without
Lust!
Lust, a prenatal configuration
Of two intolerable humans
Alas, without
Heed!
Heed not onto this wild act
Of one intolerable weakling
I would break like the thinnest of glass
While I re-puncture my wounds
Perhaps with that very glass shard
Broken
Old becoming new, never healing
My scabs flickering away
Like the belief of the wick

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