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Array
(
[sid] => 178330
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Drowning and Downing
[time] => 2014-05-16 12:50:25
[hometext] => The inner self we barely share, back shelf stuff rare to air
[bodytext] => How deeply must I travel; not where, but within. What depths must I plumb, ripping back my tin of sin? No sardines, so arranged, these dark leanings so deranged. Would I were a scaled fish, peeling easily with a wish. My filth is layered, venal scum; not fit for sharks, my vile chum; value as I do my soul, no release so easy as a bullet hole. People like me, “He's just swell!” If they only knew the hell I carry round me as a cape, ever cloying, no escape. Perhaps I am as they say, a decent person in light of day... respected on so many fronts, but the one that matters most a failed punt. A mind (mine) ever turning tossing, weighing in on (souls) wins and losses; a scale only I can hear, judgement harsh from which I steer. Who can know the real me? Only I...just I can see; my critic judging, oh so harsh, the wettest bog, most soggy marsh would repunge if it could were my body soiled in their 'hood. My soul I treasure; coddle even, endeavour far beyond all reason, twisting sheet to windy whim, I dig ever deeper, gleaning little good I see.... tossing sins to deep, retaining me. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 90 [topic] => 75 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished )
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