"But I could tell Death, I have loved you and so I am deeper than scythes."
- John Moriarty
On the other side of this bloody gaping wound
Which cast 'us' asunder into a 'you' and 'me'
I feel blindly robbed of an anthropology
Unable to find my way around the person I used to be
What is the alchemical recipe from who I used to be to who I now am?
From which forest can the ingredients for the tremendous be foraged?
And at what personal cost? What bears and barriers lie in wait?
Are there dangers hidden in retracing steps that turn flesh into pillars of salt?
Answer me, so that I may remember Eden
And my place under the shade of an unassuming tree
Without instructions, pitfalls and repercussions this time
Point me to where it is buried, and I'll unearth it
The gates to the old me are locked from the inside
All I carry with in my pockets are memories of me with you
Memories too large to fit into keyholes
And whose strength lies in coupling not cutting ties and locks
I am ill-equipped to dig up a cogent and coherent history for myself
Out of this stupendous dereliction
Before you, there was a secular dispersion
After you, well, I am (w)holy congregated
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