Dancing With Him

Monday is upon us, the day of shedding and appearing closer to human. After hours of laying in the tub, listening to Richard preach, I feel completely lost. What if he is right... what if his plan is the only needed avenue? Should I abandon all hope and desire to feel something, just so Richard can raise his arms in conquest? His joy, purchased with the flesh and sorrow of myself and others, above all, is motive... Lambs to the slaughter, the unrecognizable stalker watching it's prey... removing my will and eating it whole, only to retch it forth unto the masses. Innocence be damned... his appetite is far deeper, it will consume everything without prejudice.His dominance and strength are alarming... how did he claim the seat of power and direction? Whom did he overthrow? Was it Diana... was she sent to me as a savior? If so, where has she gone... for I've not heard from her in so long. Only Richard and The Choir, and he has bent the will of many of them as well. The drums are beating, and the imps are scampering into place... the dance is beginning, and I've lost my face.At night, when he demands we speak in tongues, I have no choice but to pray along... to whom and for what purpose are futile concerns. It's like a trance, my will stripped away like the restrictive undergarments of innocence, lasting for hours... each passing moment removes my desire further. I haven't cried in months, and I've tried all manners of release... cutting, starving, and drugging have no effect. I'm beginning to realize it was Richard that took that sliver of humanity away from me... as I desperately cling to the scraps I have left. I can't allow him to take everything away from me... becoming the victim and hunter, serving my flesh on silver platters night after night.I want to feel, it's what we've always wanted more than anything... but Richard demand we cut it out. I don't know what to do... I've become powerless, a drone to the overlord that cracks his flowered whip. If I lack the strength and courage to save myself, who will come to my aid? Will it be Diana or the rivers of green... finding something worthy, something unseen.

Gone To Seed

The last few days have been difficult, fading between fantasy and reality, two worlds colliding together like rotten melons... the stability is fading equally from both, as the cancerous thoughts pull us back and forth. I don't image things getting an easier for quite some time... my therapist is on vacation this next week, therefore I have nowhere safe to collect and ground myself. It's times like this, that I wish I could really understand emotions... how they swell and fade in nothingness as the needed information and stimulus are supplied. It's just a mass of vibrations swirling inside, ripping at my chest with deceitful unfamiliarity... I can feel something growing inside, and in fear I strangle it and grind it's fragile skull into the callous, cold concrete. Must. Rip. It. Out. I could set it aside, delete the images, and turn the other way... Richard would be pleased and the games could continue on schedule. What pleases one, infuriates the other, as the Choir sings in divided unison... every time I look in there, the swells of green, part of me screams in terror and the other swims in delight. There's life and death in those eyes, and for once it's not a mirror... but which price affords the prize, the summer embrace, the childlike cries.

The Back & Neck

Nothing is right... my body and spirit are shifted two feet apart. The mind hinges on stability, arguing reason with timetables... the impact was far more severe than we originally thought. How did this happen... what caused the flux of space and distance? The ripples formed and the edges melted, washing dry the remnants of routine... all because I saw the light. That beautiful, distant light. How quickly it enveloped me, making my heart ache to be bathed in it's wonder... beyond understanding and experience, this change was necessary. The walls, my captor, shook in anticipation... without bending, time was known to be limited. The charred seams of tapestry unwind with desire... the fabric that held this rag-doll existence,  molding a heart, mind, and soul. The thought consumes me, the absence withers new hopes and dreams...how quickly we become addicted to breathing. The feast unending, was threatened with bloated bellies and soiled napkins...satiated to the last, it's will had started to come undone. I'm at a loss, one steeper than all the sums totaled... in the dark, crawling, waiting, weeping. Not for today, not this time... it's not coming. I must remember tomorrow, and the things that grew... unexpected, true, but now vital. Wait for it... it's only a matter of time now.

Walk Of Thought

Why does it have to be this way... isn't there another avenue or format? Waking to the stale air birthed by nightmares, unmoved and undesired... crawling on the floor like a driven beast of burden. I yearn for the taste, the essence, a desire once known. The cutting eyes and razor tongues of man... forcing the survivor to pry flesh from the bone. I can see it, it's there... one foot be 10,000 miles of thought. It's in her eyes, the delicate touch, a fire burning... the heart is yearning, as the fears are turning. Awake. Rise. Step forward... the masks are withered and crusted of salt. What will it be, when the hands touch the sky... another moment of lapsing or perhaps misery of what would come. It doesn't matter, not really... there's no one home to answer the door. But I watched her... as if I was never there.

Debbie's Little Lamb

It has become a constant struggle to remind myself that I am human, someone in the world that has valid thoughts and feelings... the obnoxious daily mantra, "I am real, I am real...". It's an awkward situation, thick and dripping with irony... absence from the world causes disassociation, yet mingling with the people induces reticule and shame resulting in, you guessed it, disassociation.I've become the town's walking freak show... "there's that guy again, fucking nut bag!". Though the worlds may differ, the sentiment is the same... the shifting glances, children pointing and starring, the egotistical, wealthy and righteous teenagers laughing. One of the downsides to living in a small town... not to mention a stuck-up, wealthy town. My economic worth is already a symbol branded in my flesh... the lowly and indigent, the cesspool of filth and muck not fitting for such delicate features. Bitter? Me? No, I'm just tired of fighting myself and society to find a wee bit of self-worth... just a fucking scrap man, let me have that at least. The few people in town that know me by name and have taken the time to look upon me with non-judging eyes, see me as a good man... this is equally disturbing I suppose. How fucked up is that? They've seen me opening doors for the elderly and for the women in general, helping people with their packages and satchels, and always using please and thank you during any exchange... always followed by "Have a nice day", in closing. What kind of person doesn't say "please" and "thank you", let alone open a door for a woman? That qualifies me as a good man? I don't get it... people confuse me. Truth be told, there is just no winning situation. If I'm shamed or shunned, I lose... if I'm looked upon as a good person, I lose. "You're a special piece of fucking shit, and God has mighty plans for your ugly, worthless ass!"... I get it, I do.

Embrace & Become One

While I was on vacation from reality, I spent some time thinking about an embrace... during the cascade of captivation, we imagined fingertips and bodies pressed near. What would it be like, to experience the intimate moments of romance novels? Those fairytale moments people spend their lives searching for and some have obtained... regardless, nearly everyone has felt the tingling sensations of passion and love. I have written of those feelings, emotions, and culmination of events a thousand times over... but my actual experience is less than zero. The trust involved to feel as such is beyond my recognition... the needed platform of passion in it's highest form. I speak of passion in an intimate element... passion is not always a loving, sexual emotion, it can be hurtful and reckless, insincere and seeded in impure intentions. Passion is the unseen force that moves the figures in place and initiates the dance... fueled by irrational desire, only the avenues change, not the momentum and drive. The divine embrace of heart and mind, piercing the skin to the depths of our very souls... the vibrations shifting as two bodies melt into one. I'm talking about an embrace so intense that it surpasses orgasms, ego, ecstasy, and selfish motivations... something only true love could birth in climatic moment of expression. The warm breath on your neck, the blurred vision from being pressed too closely to focus your sight clearly, fingers weaved lightly into loose tangles of hair, the salty sweetness of desire secreting from your skin, and the dancing fingertips as their burning caress tingles your core through your spine. In that moment, true love and an intimate embrace... those are the moments taken for granted. Something I've never experienced, but rather longed for endlessly in this life... what a beautiful moment, bitter sweet in the corner of my mind.

Bathed In Grass & Downy Feathers

It wasn't long, but had been long coming... for a moment there, I was actually almost what would be considered happy. The choir had quieted themselves, the memories and guilt faded, and I forgot about the prison I dwell in... no mortal or moral chains, no illnesses, no what if's. I was there. It ended suddenly, I remembered who I was at first, then the limitations... Richard began laughing and I felt a disconnection. Perhaps it was an error in judgement, some foolish lapse of reason, or perhaps a weakness developed from years of running scared... the reflection came into full view and the little future I have to look forward to. It may have been stupid on my part, letting my feet leave the ground... but for that moment, I saw something, I felt something. Now it's gone and I can vaguely remember the sensations. The sorrow and reality consumes me now... but for just a moment, I was free. Free indeed... it was worth the price and the moment I felt it leave.