I sit here now, communing with my gods
Facing the dim yellow light
Digging damage into my eyes ever so slowly.
I hear drones coming from a fan behind me
Blowing hot wind on my back, 11:50 in the evening.
The night is hot and every time I turn away, I see in my peripheral vision a black figure with round eyes slightly raising its head, peeking at me behind a gate outside my door.
And there are ghosts in the darkness the dim light cannot pierce.
I widen my eyes but I cannot see, yet I can tell they are looking back.
What a depressive bunch.
They sigh in the dark and I raise my drink to all that are dead.
How come this night is so long?
One day I came back to visit the town I grew up in
Far up here in the north.
And while every thing kind of remained the same
Somehow it was all different.
The public cemetery, with its gloomy skin and silent eyes seem to be a lot more crowded.
The roads leading to places lost in moss covered paths seem shorter.
The cafes I used to sit idle in, are now run down and closed.
Yet they were still them
The eyes, the skins, the roads and the gloomy skies.
And I was still me
The familiar outsider.
Before I left the cemetery, I kissed my sister’s niche goodbye
And left a prayer for all the dead below.
Unfrequented and alone.
She was tender, oh so tender.
She would have the shakes in her legs whenever I stuck my fingers in between.
And she would sigh a trembling sigh and her legs would freeze and she would say
I cant stand up anymore
Better to just spread she thinks.
And spread she does slowly
Ashamed of the flower between her thighs, wet like orchids in the rain.
And I am the coming storm.
Cruel in nature.
I deny myself nothing.
I plunge my **** straight inside her.
No gentle strokes.
Only a wrathful stabbing.
How easily a silk tears.
Do we punish ourselves accordingly
When the punishment eludes us?
Most likely no.
We wander this world
Like living dead.
To be laid to rest.
Today I have a leg wound, came from a dog.
It was a tiny little spitz, cream fur pointy ears and all that.
The tiny thing bit fast like a bullet grazing through my leg.
It left a minute but pretty deep hole in there, sunk to my right leg its fangs did.
I dressed it and prayed that death do not visit me or this dog anytime soon.
I miss my girl. I’ll see her this coming weekend. I just turned 22.
I cant wait to turn 23.
Time and time again we delude ourselves into thinking we are in control.
The deluded mind is shattered when the only reality surfaces in the end:
It has been alone all along.
I couldnt draw
Or play the piano.
I feel as if these hands were of a butcher’s.
Fingers made to tear all that comes to touch.
Grip only suited for the blade.
I love you
But my darling
I fear touching you now.