Dark bits.

November 18, 2012. 

It was a cold and rainy night. 

I had spent the last several years gorging myself on cliché. 

I fell asleep that night watching little people porn.

I woke up before sunrise, a caricature.

A monster. 

Now everything is terribly normal. 

I will try, 

fail,

to speak your tongue.

Cryptex lock which opens

not with words. not with light.

        but with words and light. 

Inside,  sunlight bruised by pending storms.

What small gifts shall I lay at your feet?

What dusky recompense may I offer in

exchange for your light

that breaks through my own heavy clouds?

No. Clip.

Not that way. 

Today you grow this way.  The other ways are not for you. clip clip clip

Tomorrow maybe. Maybe a new way tomorrow. 

Clip. clip. clip. clip.

No. No. No. No.

Yes. This way. 

This way is release. 

This way is comfort.

I will take all the other ways from you. 

With each clip

you are freed. clip.

owned. clip.

every clip, choice denied.

clip.

bliss.

His.

Whisk of flog, slap of the paddle

spiced with degradation.

Possession. Consumption.

A function of

lifestyle or cruelty?

For the last 23 years, I have been living a lie.

So far, so good!

Always be kind, because you have no idea what another person is going through. 

But then I look at a person and think,  "what if this douche has been skating through life without a care in the world?"

So fuck him.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

God is a promise whispered in your ear

as you shit the hospital bed.

Me? I'm short on trust these days. 

Cursing, begging.... deaf ears.

There's you, the clock, the cheap motel art

and waiting. 

Death is patient, disinterested. 

It's exhausting staying alive for the sake of others. 

But what else do I have to do?

I'm fresh

out of control.

I've none left to give.

If you want control, look elsewhere.

lesswhere.

Or you can stay

in my bed

on the floor

against the wall 

             but you've been told.      buyer beware 

I'm out of control

and you'll have none while you're here.