Letters...to Primal

From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.

[letterstoprimal]

Is it just a lie?

They tell you that life is about finding happiness. When I think about ending mine, I get a rush and pain jolts through my fingertips so hot that I can feel it. I'm just tired of fighting myself, of thinking and wondering. I want to shut off each person in my life like light switches.

And then I crave to be social, to have someone's eyes on mine, go through my soul, puncture me, and take whatever's down in there for their own. But not just to take, to hold and to nurture, to make it grow. 

Everything I touch turns to ash. Maybe that's why I think about your touch. I believe you're unbreakable. 

Are we doomed then? I feel like we are. I feel like I am. I don't know anything about this world, and neither does anybody else. We think we know but I think the reality is that it's more horrible than we can fathom, and we're not important at all to the end of this world or the next. 

If I could just be important to someone...maybe that would give me some direction. 

I shouldn't write this late. I don't have anything nice to say. 

[letterstoprimal]

For all you give...

...you should receive...

I'm taking a break. I don't want to think about work, mind numbing, endlessly banal work. I'm drained of all creativity from talking to the monotonous and obeying commands I no longer care about. I'm used to the life but it's barely living. One large white box with rows and stacks of other white boxes and squirming, yawning, itching, deprived bodies inside them. 

And in those breaks, I think about your words. They reign over me like a storm of fateless consonants and vowels, never knowing the end of the stream, just the moment it began until now, soaking wet and breathless, running in directions guided by your voice. I never hear the sound, just the rush and fury, the carnal in the slip of your punctuation inside me. I trip over it and fall face first into cock and balls and gripping hands and pounding, insatiable lust. You're the hammer and the nail. 

You've beaten the compliance out of me, and I'll be silent in my white box no longer. It's time to scream.