They say you open a vein and let the wet words fall onto the page. Capture the inner flow of memories as they stain the paper that so desperately wants to be violated by your inner perverseness. We all want to be seen, to be felt, we all want to lay back and just let some opposite attraction take us to a better place. As we lie there, sinfully ignorant to the world around us, we glimpse a world far away, a nirvana where we all strive to be. In this intangible time frame we get lost in the endorphin rush that fills your every cell. Are we all victims of our own desire?
Do we count the scars our hearts collect, hang them on the wall like an ornament, do we praise our sullen sores like medals around our neck? We pride ourselves in the stories we tell, the self made war time fox whole wonders we survived, the shell shock we endured. All in all we crave to find the soothing touch of a hand that heals, of a heart that feels, we go searching in the self inflicted mist of broad daylight for a reaching comfort, a resting place.
As your body shakes with adrenalin coursing through your veins, opening the siphon that falls onto this page, do you remember days of old, do you ready your arms for new. You’ve been here before a few times, do you really feel like dying, or do you just consume the energy of those who extend a familiar invitation.