I do not even behold her physical image at the first glance, simply a reflection is all that is needed to take passion’s hold. The smell of her French perfume infuses the lust within and with extended finger coaxes forth the rage inside of me. Movements captured forever within a capturing mind, she becomes my prisoner before chains have even clasped her wrists. Delicacy tantalizes the mind forcing transition’s movement in this tale we are about to write. We dance past the necessities of mere mortals and I feel certain you will accept your place upon appropriate pedestal as I take you. Gently now… come quietly into the night and force not my trembling hands to meet in wanted permanent clutch. Not just yet.
Remorse is for those with compassion, instead we meet The Urge. He sits beside me at the bar and whispers words of encouragement and comradery. Another drink to try and quench the fire that still burns hot. I sweat within my skin, not from nerves but from the realization of a dream. And what do you do now that your dream has been fulfilled? Does one return as normal to the everyday robotic life of those that have never lived a fantasy? Thoughts with sugar, taken with two shots of Grey Goose, shaved lemon, stirred with ice and served by a smile that gives life to a fresh want. I ponder dreams mixed with memories as I smile and know in my heart… the reality has just begun.
Darkness comes and then there is a light. It stands before me in greeting and I rush forward with surprising urge. Mere inches away I feel a pull, there are dark chains connected to my back. They keep me from advancing towards the warmth. I suddenly feel them begin to pull me back into the darkness. There is a wrongness that is not worded, but I somehow feel knowledge gained that something is not right. One chain dangles before me and begins to shake with invitation, I grab at it with desperate hands. As I begin to yank upon my possible lifeline I look up at a familiar face, she glows with radiance and resolve as she stares down upon me. Understanding comes with violent punch upon my soul as the pieces come together of what has happened. I feel a release of pressure and watch as she drops her end of the chain, my last hope, with a dispassionate gesture. The one below allows me plenty of time to understand that her action is the last in my life, as the tale’s last word is penned with my wordless cry.
Winternight freeze my soul. Solidify it against the compassion that seeks to infest my heart. Harden my demeanor in the days to come.
I stare across a sea of frozen blades of grass. They crack and pop with the realization of their humanity. Their screams join the sounds of growth that surrounds them, pictures of life amongst the graves of the dying. Crystalized limbs reflect the light of heaven and shine a beacon into the face of God. To make him aware that though we may die with the coming sun, we were here once and we mattered. Remember us.
I feel a connection in my pants. It comes in the form of a vibration and a sudden awareness of interest. Where do the unsuspecting eyes currently dwell? My pants know. With their awakening comes a rebirth of personal satisfaction. Waves upon waves of limelight roll ashore in the form of green envy. And as the man walks upon the beach he feels yet again another connection through his cell phone resting within his pocket. It is his leash to the world, even when he simply wishes to disconnect.
I know I didn’t call. What a shitty son I am. It took me three days to call you after surgery. I am sorry. I called you tonight… and I still feel bad. You are the strongest person I know, the most giving man on this planet. If I could even live to be a percentage of the man you are, my kids would be lucky.
It is hard to hear of you in pain, mom or you. Both of you have had such a rough year and I have not been able to do all I could. One day I will be able to. One day I will be able to give you the world and let you rest finally… finally rest. That day is not today. Today I am the bad son, but one day… one day I will make you proud. One day.
I found myself lost within the confines of your thoughts today. Trapped between two unbending covers, I gave up seeking escape and instead realized myself to the idea of entertaining your thoughts. They are so clear and vivid, teasing my mind and challenging me to be as good as you one day. If only I could be. My pen drips ink and dries from hesitation… or is it fear of failure. I look to my left and right and see examples that outshine me. How can one possible appreciate the moon when there are two radiate suns to steal the spotlight.
I curse my life in rotation as I consider the freedom of passing meteors. They blaze trails of accomplishment within my sight, taunting me with their ease.
A book is a lost relic that contains the past thoughts of a person talented enough to capture them before they die. One might think this is an easy task. I speed read and probably only retain about 60% of most books that I have opened. I have opened a lot of books though. If I happen upon a diamond in the rough, it would take the form of a gospel that I would devour to the last word. It is a rarity to be sure, but it has happened in the past. And still I seek the next one, to become lost in your book.
They call me “Mental Me.” I see that asshole mixing the medicine again with my tea. I give the nurse squirrel eyes as she hands me my pills. As long as I look crazy, I get to live tax free. I may go to prison soon if Fred touches my stuff again. I hear though that even if I went to prison… I would end up back here. It must be some kind of circle of life. Or imprisonment. There was something I intended to do. What was it.