"...I wanted you to know my head."
Words, saturated. Stippling the layers
Of every fucking all that I know.
No hyphens, no conjugation,
Direct, clear, sung with indifference.
Into the right, into the left, pouring in slowly, thickly,
With unintentional purpose.
That metaphorical grain of sand, invisibly planted
Melted on its own, to procure a meaning, pure
To know, to nod to no one, to know the dots connect
To substantiate nothing but itself, in the long hall of one mind
My own.
As sinus cavities blare
With barometric oomph,
I fucking bang my feelings,
Against the rockiest miseries.
I do this,
Languish in the moodiest halls
They are familiar to me,
And in that familiarity, I find a kinship
To the grief.
How daring it is to acknowledge difficulties
To assign their due, their reasoning, their
Incontrovertible definitions.
To own and take into account, all I expect of who I am
And all I am willing to do, to rise to challenges,
No matter their level of uncontrollably fucked variables.
Duty. Responsibility. Loyalty. Commitment.
Willingness. Accountability.
Restraint.
The order in which these attributes derive their purpose.
To who does this contemplation belong?
Self, is a beast, with candor, unmatched.
The highest form of monogamy.
The ultimate sacrifice to obtain solace fed from completion
Of all I have in mind,
And all I swap in exchange for that freedom.
Worth the effort/trouble/trade/tirade/gamble?
Fuck yes.
Today.
Ask me again in a week,
When the night gets long and the shadows pour
Onto me, into me, open wounds, intimate witnesses
That ooze with internal cream
And wail over the wonder
Of Genital Solitude.
