Oh, desolate shell!
Alas, I am free of you.
The molted skin of what I used to be-
Has plummeted toward unknown depths.
____ My soul is now
___ The volcano that was erupted;
___ And became my soul…
… Spewing crimson debris outward,
As it rages…
___ There is no blood or anger,
___ Only love and ambition…
… It explodes, I explode.
Now anything and everything I touch-
Is almost reformed or refined…
… And what is not reformed or refined-
Is beyond the spectacular borders-
Of my grief’s control,
And remains within-
Brilliant confines of-
The pictures are from bing.com…