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As I sit upon my perch, drinking my drink, a man next to me takes it upon himself to force a conversation of which I want no part.
As I attempt to get lost in thought over matters of false importance, he continues on, rapt , hopelessly in love with the sound of his own voice.
I would move, but that would be rude, and I would have nothing to complain about.
He continues on, and I try to catch my train of thought, before it leaves the station.
I look past the bartender, at the bottles and pictures of old friends, stickers from bands that don't play here any longer. The stickers always outlast the bands, so it seems.
He prattles on, and I begin to daydream of silence and plan out his murder in great detail.
But then, who would I talk to?
As I wandered downtown today, I saw not the dregs one would expect. Neither beggar nor busker, no gentleman hobo, no man down on his luck.
It was very sanitized, bright women in bright coats carrying bright bags of dull things, All but a few lost in their phones, hiding as life crawls excruciatingly, inexplicably onward.
What a chore life can become if one should so allow the reins to be freely given to the horse.
I lost my mind in a shuffle of time that unwinds the twisted vision of my past transgressions. Perfection is the touch of her lips the swaying of her hips, the cliffs and peaks and tweaks of the meek understanding i have of my own soul.Control was never achieved let alone believed to percieve my dreams which in any other circumstance would utterly be considered a nightmare. Do I care?
No. I owe it to myself to to breathe in and exhume the sins of her failure yet i cant shoulder all of her pain. If i could die for her world to be forgiven I would......... not in jest but just because....... because........ righteous....... because............. heinous torture she performs scorches my skin tinting and scintching my eyelids its a beautiful thing.
pass it on....... pick it up...... one dance...... 4???? 7??????? nevermind im backed into a corner and vulnerable....... im weak for her..... i need her scent....... circumvent my own conciousness and divide it into her will.
Peace... will i know it........... i dont think so. but its ok.......
this is how i feel.
Have you ever looked
a man in the eye
as you made the choice
for him to live or die?
Have you felt his fear
as he stared down a barrel?
That primal emotion
something wild and feral.
Do you know what it's like
to stand and pray
and hope to god
this goes away
to no avail, it's a kind of hell
that forever scars you.
Have you ever smelled
that fetid stench?
Deaths aroma
makes your stomach wrench.
A little piece of your soul
up and slips away
a little more damaged
another long day.
Yet on you trudge,
cause what else can be done
best not to think
can't even run.
When your own spirits in fear, when you are near
what do you do?
Man was not born to fly, yet he flies highest.
He is too slow, too weak, a fragile, impotent mess without talons, fangs, or the like.
They say he is crafted of God in the image of God, but only in cunning and treachery.
Faster, stronger, far more ruthlessly efficient creatures shiver in the shadow cast by Man, none to stand before his might;
But give that motherfucker the flu...
I stand alone atop this high place, that I may jump, yet not fall. I neither float nor fly, nor beg mercy of the above, lest learned ears hear my befouled and clumsy attempts at prayer.
I ask naught of those who would cast aspersions upon my name, nor those who would venture forth to swallow my swill with cauterized hopes and sugared grin.
Let this man stand triumphant, on equal footing with fallen heroes and forgotten gods, that his fist prove worthy of the pantheon, and his foot prove worthy of the faces of those less so, men who would pretend to live and love in the shadows of the great, yet stammer when brought forth to the Light, seeking shade over the fight to come.