Dark Urges
A Heated Blade
I see a glass...I could shatter it in a second
and dig it in the next.
A new urge, a new level - and my life is considered 'pretty good'
So WHY
What is this switch, cobwebbed and dormant in a walled off stairway
curving up to a dusty room - a hidden self?
This switch that is recognizable yet remains mute in its elucidation.
I've been here before - but this demon wears so many faces.
I was taught to blame myself
to Default to My Fault
Take the blame, make it disappear like a gourmet meal, devour it -
though it will clog you and slowly, methodically, stop your fucking heart.
This switch is a scent you recognize - an inner fettering of recall.
Like mothers milk to a starving victim that is
KEPT
KEPT
KEPT
Act like you like it.
Things FEEL good,
Don't they?
Don't they?
Don't Deny.
But it's a slight of hand, it's a tongue that is forked, seeking warmth;
seeking to devour the afterbirth of a still born dream that grows cold.
DO NOT go back to that den.
Yet all the signs on every single fucking road lead there.
Bridges are out. Washed away.
Dreams round over time - their jaggedness dulled to an acquiescence
that can dully, dutifully bludgeon your soul.
Gulp breath.
Kick to the surface
Tears carry the poison
Action is antidote.
Warm Bath, a pen, a page, a glimmer of YOU coming to save YOU.
Harness your sword
The True Enemy is OUT THERE
not IN HERE.
You light a candle for the Virgin and the Maiden you never got to be.
Not today, you whisper, Not today.
