I’ve felt a target...
I’ve felt a target, punctured and twined
Spun into a web of deceit and hate
And I’d like to congratulate
All those that came before
Knelt down like a whore
And worshiped the pleasures of madness.
Such sadness you all created
When you threatened my safety,
Took advantage of my naivety,
In some ways literally penetrated
Into a place with no marked doors, no marked rooms
Yet somehow there you saw
Waiting behind enemy lines
Trifling with my heart
Any man would start at the unexplained
The inexplicable starts a cascade
In the cortex;
Amygdala prepares for war
And my body transforms into a soldier.
An imaginary body suit, an unwelcome camouflage
As I peer into night-vision goggles
Without a goggle in my mind
As to the absurdity of my choices.
So anointed is the path ahead that what lays in my wake makes no mistake
To shake me awake.
Perhaps why I’m shy to see that there’s melancholy where I tread.
Who wishes to see the emptiness inside;
A man treads on the water
And yet leaves no imprints in the sand.
Safety is so bland and taken in stride.
Coalesce into a membrane, filmy and sticky and filthy as fuck
But would have to do in this violent world.
So I shelled up and emerged a beautiful some THING.
A THING.
With no wings.
And no songsing.
Just emptiness. And then moved forward until she saw me.
Death flirts with us all, the penultimate Whore,
Her tricks dig into my flesh and I ache for release
I cannot imagine escaping her clutches
For I fear the embrace of her femininity
Closing in around me and choking,
Not joking when the tears flow.
Afraid of dying to the dying point of life.
You’ve heard it said, friend, that there is no point to life if one cannot live.
So this brings the question, my dears, my loves:
What is this existence sought?
For what are these emotions fought?
Am I a genetic prison, bound to express and deny?
Never going to fly with these wings
But my imagination travels faster than the speed of light;
Interconnected, dimensionless, absolutely fabulous
And colorful and mocking the spectrum of invisibility.
Travel on, strangers– we make ways of our ways,
Traverse the paths as if it matters where we go.
Which really, it does.
Death awaits us all with her arms wide open, her seductive siren song engulfing reality.
Can not harm.
Can not escape.
Cannot leave.
Cannot even relate.
So I push my life into death and I absorb the fear and it takes me over.
Thus is born my existential crisis.
I don’t know what I am doing except fearing the inevitable mix of decaying breath, widening pupils and a never-ending blink.
The day shall come, and has even arrived
Now that I have contrived
A way out of this seemingly irreconcilable hurt in my soul.
I feel as I am to dive off this cliff into murky channels
Naked as a baby’s innocence.
To me this still makes no fucking sense
But to prod, to trod, is not in my making.
I’m so confused and frightened. It has to show.
And someone has to fucking care.
Someone.
I can start with me and work from there.
~C
24 Nov 2015
No title.
