Straight lines

If I didn’t want to keep going around in circles, I could try walking in a straight line. Then, along my way, I’d realize that I live on a planet, which is round. Even straight lines turn into circles if you follow them far enough. It will be a long time but inevitably I would find myself right back where I used to be. Secretly and subtly perhaps I am bending the rules, telling myself one thing while really doing another and if I keep this up I won’t get anywhere.

Why bother trying to understand people; random and strange people that cross your path every day? Why bother being nice? Why bother caring? Why bother? Why bother? Why bother? All I want to do sometimes is walk, walk, walk, and just keep going. Step on the gas and floor it to 160 till I can’t go any faster. Fuck it. Walk. We are all just hustlers in this life.

I have all this rage in me, this passion that fuels me. This darkness that makes itself known that is seductive and sweet and attractive. I’m the spark, ride it, and burn it all up. Use it, use me. In the end you’ll have nothing but pain and me, I’ll use it to create something larger than us. That’s who I am. I am this and more but you’ll never know.

Spirits, souls, lost in the storm, soaring, descending, wings on fire like Icarus. Too close to the sun. Nothing and everything makes sense. All I want to do is feed the warring armies in my heart, give them an objective. Pillage, bring back the spoils. Love…oh love…why? Why do you push me Muse? Why make me dance to this rhythm, I can barely stay awake. Can’t I love you another day?

I lose myself inside myself, inside others, inside spaces too small for the sum of my feelings. Trapped. You who fear risk, madness, pain, the struggle, could never know me or even begin to understand what makes my soul sing. I want to dance out my frustrations, scream them out the four corners. Cut and see blood, dripping on white linen. Don’t you know? I’m fucking crazy.

And then…there is the me, the little old me that is less forceful, softer, more beautiful, less enraged; sublime, the dreamer; the poetess; the traveler who sees the beauty in the details.

And now…for something completely different:

“What if”

What if we could fuck the evil that fucks us?
Would we gag it, tie it up and flog it?
Would we pour hot wax on all the sensitive parts and watch it squirm
As we penetrate it, desecrating every orifice?
Would we make sweet love to it, part it’s legs with affection
And murmur sweet nothings in it’s ear?
Would we lick the sweat and tears?
Would we stroke it until it cums in our face
Unleashing the hell we’ve scripted?
Or would we dance in the moonlight,
High on the stars and a bottle of wine?
Cook a nice dinner and get ready to dine
Feed it some lines, until it choked on our gimmick
And was wet and ready, hot and heavy and begging?
What if we played the game?
Letting it burn? Linger and become the fire,
That only the evil that fucks us can ignite
And get cozy, settle in and enjoy the rest of the night…