Ramblings: Part Three

Common names on a desk, a demon’s face smirking with a subtle mischievous quark, please find me. How can I know so much about people but know nothing about myself? How can I care so much about everyone (some could call it love) but care nothing about myself? Platonic love feels so wrong, but tastes so right. I am on a mission for submission, and my admission starts the ignition, and I drive away like a bat out of heaven. (Fuck the cliché “bat out of hell”; it would fly faster from heaven I think). No gas, fuck! Hide the glass because your shards will cut me. I will bleed. I will die. It’s only natural. Save me from tomorrow. I would rather be blind and know you love me, than see you and know you don’t. A gas station’s fuel lightens my head to where I can see you, know you, and love you. I will find someone that is less of a person, such as I am less of a person to you. I don’t eat meat; the same as you eating my meat until there is nothing left in my body to take. Be a vegetarian. We can feast on cucumbers and bamboo shoots; or don’t. I won’t judge you. Our relationship is like a cool autumn day; it shows decay and fosters death. Like a spring day, it will regenerate over time. Pick a time in your life when you were happy, sad, or in awe. Let it overwhelm you; let it take over your body until you can no longer feel the pain or happiness. Let it splice the fragments of your life into one continuous strand of unconscious reaction (a fully complex reaction). Take every moment in your life and place it behind a veil; a veil that enthralls your face to a peak point of adjunct. Adjacent to my face, an eye, leg, or toe, and place yourself on the seat of the throne at the top of the world. I am my own. I am free. I am alive (for a while at least). Die by the age of thirty. That seems ideal. The peak is the bottom, at the very crevice of the ocean that your mind splits into a million different strands of hair. I fell into my place and wept there for hours, all the while composing the music you can’t hear. I spit all over you and broke my tongue, while my words were still young. As they aged, my rage feels as on old theater would; used but useless, expensive bus priceless, old but timeless. Inert forces of the collaboration of spoken word, written word, and muted voices (the actions of people). Play me like a violin, whose sweet notes call for me by name (a melancholy song of salvation). A savior in its own right; however, it isn’t right. We fight to fight; we fight to be right; we are wrong; we are strong. In our heads, bodies, in life and in death, we are wrong. Let’s take our one final breath and sleep forever under the moons ever-glowing shadows. The end of it all, let’s take our climactic bow. We need to walk a million miles of untraveled road to get to where we are going, to see into the sky (envisioning the starlight’s gold). As a tone of finality, we must tread on nothingness to believe in the epic pause, to face your epic flaw (or flaws), and sleep with your epic spouse. In the premiere of the next big show, savor the flavor of this epic blow. Legitimize your fate; make it legal to your own laws. Painkillers don’t take away the pain caused by emotional strife. The contention suggests the dimensional space of the 1D, 2D, 3D, 4D lands. Where does it stop? Can we go past time to find outside realms? Is it time and space? Is it time or space?