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Ghandi on Fire

Catacombs of fear

Of self denial

Caged soul

On fire

Frozen in the flames

Of mental mutilations

Still born words

Turning to ashes

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You needed at least 3 to really stay alive, he said. Broken glass was perfect in its razor blade geometry A jagged champagne flute sliced the skin at the bar The ravers ran as roaches do at the flick

The garbage we tell ourselves. The mindreading. The self-inflicted verbal lashes to our naked backs. We are the very best at castigating ourselves. When he went so deep inside that he could not get ou

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