Panacea

Like a hound sniffing for a lost owner, so was I searching for hope on evertrod ways.

Or like a bird, peeking at the most natural and gentle places, or like a vagabond leaf idly taken and moved by a second wind.

But now I resemble more frankly a vampire in search of blood warmth, or a wolf craving for flesh, for what once was a natural and spiritual need is now twisted, warped into a physical and low desire.

But now I’m in a broken frame and I’ve put myself clinging to the tips of the last wires of salvation, and the best of essences or the foulest of poisons can’t linger on a broken jar – the essence and the poison seep alike.

Of all things I wish nowadays, and if looking back I wished for love and joy, for peace and serenity, all that I want the most, for now, is feeling. A rush of blood, a quickening sequence of pulses, a beat that can’t fade in a moment. Only to feel again.

And since a remedy can’t be holden by a broken cup, and since the cracks are clogging with venom, what fate could be that of the sweetest panacea should it seep from an infected jar, jumping from poisonous cracks and flowing away?