I am caught off guard by the questions people ask of me.
Are you in equal and eternal awe and adoration? Is it not a relief? At least, at last? Heart and home?
How can you ask about the weather and the eggs i bought, when I am bleeding out on the sidewalk? I want them to ask me how many times I stop to stare at that sidewalk out of my 24th story window. I want them to ask after the colour inside of my pretty pumpkin head. I want them to ask me what I've eaten since the month of May that did not taste of haste and shame. I want them to see my secrets as I fight for anaesthesia and my shivers when I wake halfslept with my heart in my throat. I want them to see me still it like a newborn baby for the peace of the family. For the good of the name and lifeline. I want them to ask me the taste of the canvas ghost over my bed. Her sweet perfume and the sight of her groomed pussy and her jaw angled to her oiled underarm which i know better than my own, the bloated innocence shadowed by her bright white front teeth, nose reflected sadistically in the face of the lover, past, present, future, here, then, now. I want someone to repent and pay the way I have willingly repented and paid, and I beg to receive the knowledge I have desperately pleaded to as balance thereof. To tell me why the cigarettes are without respite, masturbation is watered down, the wine is vile and futile in my voiceless (cowardly) mouth, and (please god why) the yearning has shifted from a dull aching pain to a sear, a burn in the flesh, with all it's malice. My ghost grows formless and is all female bodies, the taste is now her taste, my taste, the dessert peaches are her peaches, the grey in my eye is the green in her eye, it becomes a hideous boiling blend of female flesh and nothing is ever mine only. Nothing can satisfy. God only satisfies.
But God asks penance first. Step right up, buy your tickets here! Pound of flesh, please, before your daily bread.
I don't know. I feel loved. I feel his love. And I feel His love.
God loves me completely. Recklessly. Unconditionally. Consistently. Constantly. He loves me in the same way; With no condition, no pressure, no pound of flesh.
But God does not love ONLY me. And neither does he.
It will never be, only me.
I am loved. And blanketed in love I will reneg on this contract of life. A grotesque, grandiose display of death. Mark my words. I will not wither.
