This is a stream of consciousness, free-form poem, crafted whilst in a particularly sanguine mood. Enjoy.
The emotions I experience have an awkward and dangerous chemistry—
Raw and convoluted
Potent and dull
The Superego nag, stabs, probes, pokes, and flays me open. It tears off my skin and leaves it, hanging, to dry in some far off place –
On a craggy rock in the middle of a churning sea
On top of a mountain covered with piercing thorns and poisonous insects.
Then my muscle tissue begins to sting and burn at the slightest touch, the lactic acid and blood dripping onto and corroding everything and everyone that attempts to either feast on my meat
Or those who attempt to wrap me in wool or leather.
My flesh is always so willing to jump from me. At times, I would rather lay on the floor of my own personal dungeon and allow myself to bleed out and I might play with the organs, lymph, and pus that might leak out.
Yet, something keeps me from jumping into complete oblivion.
Love, wounded but still there, but hidden like a precious jewel buried deep within the earth and lodged in the mouth of a butchered and rotting whore
My inner workings have gone through a painful inversion, where which was once the exception has now become the rule. I play with my dark friends like a girl in a plastic bubble.
I’ll never forget that desperate, hopeless, and empty feeling I experienced when I finally got to the bottom. The bliss I waited for slipped from my grasp and I stared into a black, cold, emotionless void. No, that’s wrong. There was too much emotion, emotion I am all too familiar with—
Hate, fear, sorrow, and emotions too complex and burning with a thousand subtle qualities I cannot boil them down to but a single word. And I write and write and write…
Writing and waiting and open and bleeding for something special to happen to me
Even if it did manifest, would I recognize it? The light and dark tug and tear at me, drawing and quartering my wretched and confused mind, shattering it into a thousand quivering pieces. Some of them have fallen into cracks so deep, I may never ever find them again.
The innocent and fearless, joy-loving child I once was is hiding behind mounds of burnt bodies, slick with mung. I try to lure her out with candy and fond memories, but the candy is already digested and ingesting it reminds me of consuming feces.
I have found a dark friend in disgust, pain, horror, and solitude, but I run in terror as soon as one of these dear ones comes knocking at my door…