contemplations on living too fast.

sitting partially undressed
in my $130 used tuxedo,
I ponder on the occurrences of this weekend.
I see dimly lit rooms
where crowds, of the beginning and end
of hip at SLU,
wash down their fears about the paths they have chosen.
I see skylines that twinkle like glitter
glued to a black construction paper sky.
My liver begins to hurt.
I see the consequences of just one evening.
The consequences of crying for a long lost grandmother
the conSEQUENCEs of depriving my body of proper exercise and nutrients
the CONseqences that are wrapped up in a chilled body that claims "8o proof."
Then I see a late morning beginning in the evening.
Where I ache and dream of being home;
safety is in the warmth of love.
I understand the importance of nothing
and the certainty that it's something.
I feel like I'm alone in a high walled room
in the fetal position squeezing a pillow
in a reclining chair.
Then I realize that's not what I feel like
but what I felt like.
It's hard to say no to a beast.
Beasts come and go.
They disguise themselves in specially marked
and highly commercialized
imagery.
You feel like this could be it.
No more fool's gold,
only to realize that, in about twelve hours,
it's just a fool's God.
&you are stupid for even thinking that it could be so simple.
That all your problems are still existing,
you are falling only faster into a ditch that you created
from your once upon a times
and your so-called happily ever afters.

I think of the pain of Love.
I think "Love is a losing game"
in the humblest way possible.
That no matter how much you get hurt,
no matter what pains you attempt to numb,
no matter how deep the scar is
and how much iodine is poured onto it,
you will live to tell the tale,
and live to yet again love.
Because we are all blind and crippled
and safety is the warmth of Love.
Love is losing game,
because it's like a battery.
It's the exact same thing as saying Life is a Losing Game.
cuz guess what?
As daunting as an idea as it is...
it's true.
no one makes it out alive.
so is the same with love.
but that doesn't mean that it's an ending chapter.
Everything is always a prologue to something better.
No one reads books just for the prologue.

Then the colors change and the mood is midnight blue,
like the font color I have to use since my ink cartidge ran out.
I feel like everyone is a damned fool,
and that I'm done with all the bullshit and the falsehood of companionship.
I'm tired of being treated like shit,
when I only want to do what's right
and what's best for all.

I judge too much.
I drink too much.
I smoke little, but too much.
I hate too much.
I judge too much.
I embody the bitchassness of America too much
I breath air I'm not worthy of drinking.
I think thoughts I can't even claim.
I worry about all the petty shit in my life
when there are people dying of hunger
STARVING FOR THE CHANCE TO LIVE
CRAVING A SENSE OF HOME THAT NEVER EXISTED
BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE A FAMILY
ONLY DISEASE
AND HOPE THAT ONE DAY ALL THE CoRRUPTION WILL BE RESOLVED.
IT IS FOR THEM THAT I BELIEVE IN GOD.
IT IS FOR THEM THAT I MUST KEEP A SANE MIND
IT IS FOR THEM THAT I MUST SAVOR WHAT HAS BEEN PLACED BEFORE ME
AND KEEP THE BEASTS AT BAY.
THE BEAST WHICH I HAVE LET LOOSE TO CAUSE HAVOC.
I MUST STOP BEING SO SELFISH,
BECAUSE NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS
I KNOW WHAT IS IN MY HEART,
and I want to change the frescoes painted there.


I love too little.
I enjoy even less.
I will clean my wounds,
and refurbish what is so badly wounded
by the things I've been lured to.