Gods, Monsters and Men

Catch the shadow. Committing it to film. That's what the mind does. And all those organs extraneously connected to it.

Nothing but cameras that tell us what to see.

I blink and the image has changed again.

Nothing is constant. No one is to be trusted. Especially not the ones that know how you feel about them. Show them your wrists. Drown in the blood.

Everything I know I want they want just as much. And are so much more eager to find a way to make it happen.

If I were more ambitious. Ready at last to reveal this stamen. I'd still be just another flower waiting on the bee's sting.

So preoccupied with things I can't understand. Cars. Movies. Houses. They all taste like cardboard when I bite down. Where's the sweet? Where's the lust that teaches me to write?

Where are the fingernails on my skin moving so lightly like a shadow's kiss. Awakening every nerve-end from it's coma.

Fooling us into thinking we are alive and letting go just as we realize it's ourselves we've been haunting.

Where is their love then? When there's nothing left to love about me.

That's when I want it. The only time.

In the transition from plain to pleasure I look, but cannot see. How I got here. Who has led us. Where we are going.

He looks through his lens and sees a photograph. I'm not in it.

But the flash still blinds me.

There may have been change once in this flesh. Years go. Twenty something. But thirty comes. And everything after. And I realize change is just another lie we tell ourselves is a miracle.

I could live a thousand years. It wouldn't be so difficult. But to live just one day wanting to, that's the challenge.