I am the walking midnight.
Am I the beginning or the end?
Am I a skipping stone
or a foundation pebble?
See it all comes down to that spiral
the one in your rhythm
with the dark purple echoes against black
hips oscilating to the beat.
Watching the clockspin
Counting the mediocre deathwish.
Calculating the next big hit
of bit back insult and gentle humility.
When all you want is meaty pulp between your fingers.
That satisfying
thud
of skull to pavement.
That overcoming grin
that doesn't come with a snap
or a rip.
It comes beckoned.
Summoned.
Welcomed.
Enthusiastic and oblivious
Like a long lost dog waiting at your back porch.
New trophy in hand, tail wagging
wondering why you hadn't gone with him on that last adventure.
My emotions constantly held under lock and key.
My eager explosions bound like a bouncing tongue in my cheek.
I'm going to burn your home
feed you your own children
and drown you in the blood of everything you've ever touched and loved
slowly
all with this same
empty passion I feel
completely absent
unaware of the glee a million miles from me.
This is what you've done.
Question my intentions
deny my me
that I've worked this hard to cultivate
nourish to this fragile sprout of humanity
and you'll see the I that I've buried.
Simply as a learning tool
a method of cleaining the unwanted and carelessly judgemental.
All the mirth and rapture of burning garbage.
Simply to put it out of mind
Like crushing a cricket.
Like blocking a glare.
