Another day

Well, well – here we are and now all the threads are being ripped from the seam: do not wash! All that remains of the jube like love we had – the package; a membrane – are used condoms. It has been messy for a while without us bothering to clean up, now it is all too much. Behind all the doors lurk new shadows that we cannot explain, our stories bark, their leashes long they run on and on chasing each other in pursuit of us and our insecurities – have we always been this vulnerable? Fuck I hate human frailty, I too am paper thin, so what I am saying is buy some cardboard and paste me to it for extra strength, I need backing. You and I are case sensitive it seems – in such circumstances we should not investigate, it is cruel and unusual, I feel interrogated yet enjoy interrogating – do you see the contradiction and how that renders me a fraud? Can we, like good Buddhists, practice detachment? Without directly answering that question I will say this: I am an atheist – I see the beauty in this world but will not prescribe to or administer dogmas that neatly fold this life into reasonable explanations, rather, I will see your explanation and raise you a question in order to shift your little thoughts from the narrow bridge between life and death – it is not so fucking simple – fear keeps you there, reliant on a cornerstone of faith as illusory as the beliefs you deny. I have plenty – well, of certain things I have ample, others keep glowing with an allure bright and beautiful, the promise of discovery great. What about you? Do you have enough? You see, I don’t believe when you say you do, I can’t help it – like picking scabs, it is my fault I know – I lay no blame, just curse this brain of mine that keeps writing stories.
Long nails scar my pretty white flesh, draw blood. These moments I crave; the pain – excited by the thoughts in you that disarm your inhibition. Kneading; pushing; submerged in your sea I breathe heavy – I feel you arch, your throat I squeeze, you draw in and like me, sink beneath the surface, there we hold on, and sink slowly to the bottom, then with childlike excitement as the push comes to shove, we accelerate to the surface again screaming in wild abandon.
To leave the world behind is all that remains for me – if context is everything then I no longer fit my surrounds. All meaning has been lost, I lost it, for within the downy beauty of her I placed it and now that she is gone nothing is left but a few stray feathers – they too are now completely out of context so what can they possibly mean to me. Appearances would render me selfish, self indulgent, a vagrant pitying the circumstances surrounding my misfortune with cup in hand and a few choice phrases for passers-by with nothing but cadaverous words to spare. Junk – that is all I see. Places and people holding on to the last remaining fragments of their flaccid lives – fuck that, I rid my self of it all in order to save my self, for nothing is worth it. I will walk, life nurturing death, until it wakes and life lets go. I am trying to formulate this experience yet it remains obscured, intangible.

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