Sodden quills glisten a bespoken temptation
beaded on the arrhythmia of a stuttered confession.
What nightmares primp in golden hue?
Mere jaunts livid on torment of a pacing wyrm...
Digested illogicals too bizarre to satiate the passing awe...
I beget this illicit farce to a symphony of dawning restraint.
I spill, encumbered with a growing satisfaction—
lured indecent.
...I...scrawl...abundant...
ever the deficient feed
plagued by your survival.
Summer remains a challenge for me. Especially when I'm trying to start new habits. I think I always find new habits difficult. Or rather stopping old habits difficult. It's recommended to ease in. I'm really not an ease in kind of personality. I'm on that all or nothing plane of existence. As in, I'm all full of a lot of nothing right now.
I'm finding having patience with the world challenging. I'm not accustomed to being irritated so much, I find it uncomfortable. Like an annoyance just beneath the skin that I can't quite reach. I am continuing to adjust, but I fear I'm losing pieces of myself in the process. My preferred pieces...
I guess that often occurs with the whole being an adult thing. I don't know. I suppose, it's time to get more strict with myself. That's really not my thing. It pushes my creativity to the back of my mind. Mostly I just want to get out and move.
I am remiss to starve your smile enchanted when it dilapidates upon the ruins of precognitive exposure.
The splash of sunken tip is a scar upon our spiral, and every gasp of spare entwine deepens the row in our parting.
Maladaptive hunger strays in waste where donor once caved in blissful pull, and the cerulean dance bartering heaven with heart has become an unstable misnomer.
Cruel is this lethargy burying what is within what may never see. Even more cruel is the cusp on which we're sliced.
Night after night, in spite of life's light, we descend the harrowing all. For what? Brief purchase? A vandalized awe in possibility? Could it be that our unquenchable thirst for what is an insipid truth at best has addicted us to treasonous beat?
Could it be we are wrong to thirst immortale?
As mouths move and voices stir, I wonder how blood can flow so differently. What rapt endeavor chose a single divergent path amongst the throng? Is it the location of ears upon varying heads that cause completely different brain patterns? Like a fine wine, does age and complexity matter?
I sit uncomfortable, listening. Digesting. Utterly and completely bewildered. Devaluing the academic surplus of diploma after diploma, and chastising my own ego for even pondering such ludicrousness. Perhaps such differences are merely the rudimentary reassurances that life will continue. How ironic that my own will not.
Could I? Would I? Might I dare to breed? Rather I run screaming into the hills, and thank my good fortune for a vast ineptitude of obedience and fertility. Rather I rot alone than succumb to the mindless drivel that continues to flood a far too familiar space, demanding I concede spark for stunted awareness and altered communication. Rather I fade from the Polaroid far too defined.
I smile, humored, informed my value is beyond the heights I refuse to scale. My lips quirk at dating advice that turns my stomach to even contemplate. I agree, most expectedly, that I'm a rather droll and unexciting person. My soul and well-being is prayed for. Might a god place his hand upon me in influence and esteem. My eyes twinkle at such a thought, for such an entity would surely find themselves elated by my presence. I keep it to myself. Needing to explain one's humor ruins the joy.
Off I go. Another congruence survived. Could it be this nightmare is never to be awakened from?
I saw the weekly haiku prompt. I'm not really sure how it works, so I am just posting one in response to being inspired. Thank you for the inspiration.
Cold was the columns aggregating our departure. They just stood there, stoic and unconcerned—colossal measuring sticks firm in their disregard of our wavering steps.
We knew naught of the journey awaiting us, but fear of the gravity that found us here loomed a foreboding shadow to our thwart. Nary a smile gleamed present within any a shimmering eye, though mouths aplenty were straining upwards towards hope.
Hope...No longer a figure found beckoning for my measly attention. She had her eyes on a bigger prize. One that fed upon the likes of my indentured persistence with the unapologetic joy of a raptor's preening talons.
Yes. Her appetite was razor sharp. What a fool, I, for ever believing any of us might escape between the thin red lines coveting our extinction. What a fool, I, for believing “freedom” was anything other than a lie baiting unwanted lambs to the slaughter.
Register the inhumane percussion I postpone. A drill refining honey with the bitter stench of home. Rake my reputation with a coal denied combustion. Deem me effervescent in the self-control you bludgeon.
Bleed my mind. Bleed my heart. Bleed my rage. Bleed my yearning. Bleed my pulse in quivered contest with the structure of your cursing. Read between the scriptured falsehoods strung on tenets trilled as gospel. When forever's scried as succor every thought debates debacle.
Down. Down. Trust flung wide to scale false glory. With descension's compromised, we invest to placate worry. Around and unbound, tattered flight unfurls decision. When entrapped by rigor's fang, eternal vigor sates extinction.