--- - --- --- Dominion of Destitution -- -- ---- --
I lost a star yesterday. I came home and had to place a big red "X" where my star should have gone. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill everything living inside me so that I had only an empty shell of skin to maintain.
There is an orange man smiling and smoking above me right now. He doesn't have to worry about heartache or cancer or pesticides or the availability of peat because he is wood and paint. He smiles perpetually at my angst and I want to light his little fake cigarette and watch his whole body burst into flame the color of his coat. I want him to be every hope, every dream, every lost moment smoldering in ashes that will be whisked away on the next zephyr.
Last night I had to face my ego as it rose up and consumed me whole, leaving me a shuddering, weak, insipid mass of macerated tissue inside the cesspool of my desires. I lay there for a very long time after I was chewed up, digested, and excreted. I thought about nothing, I simply felt the rejection from a coveted character, the force of a habit so deeply imbedded that the mere act of witnessing its effects on my being had me hobbling the sloth of my self over to feed off another. I was shameless. I just couldn't stay within my pathetic prison upon the pavement without sucking another in with me.
So I found him leaning against his car, finishing his contracted duties of valet for the evening and I engaged him in mild banter, easing the verbiage into the realm of my rejection gently but swiftly so that, on some karmic realm, I was absolved of my guilt for the crime I could not stop myself from committing in my desperate attempt to save the drowning of my facade, the lifeline I cling to in this transitive world of shifting mediums. I live and die by my sexuality and I would not, could not let one mere fixation dislodge the whole omnibus of my psychosis. I left him and wandered bewildered back to the party then to the step, where I sat in dismay until I tripped out of the complex, across the street and into this surprisingly immense expanse of property that hosted a large ranch-style house and emitted the sounds of live grunge music. I hovered in the bushes, scaling the perimeter of the property until I located my stalker valet and the abandoned loveseat perched within hearing distance of the band and snuggled into hardened dirt groves that would later find me testing their solidity with the nails on my fingers. He asked if I was okay and I nodded, evading his eyes and slinking to the convenient seat steps away.
He was 26 and as I reached for him I needed every year of his youth to fill every empty hole in my soul. I devoured him desperately, with the hunger of a molting rat snake blinded by its transformation and vulnerable as it swallows whole its victim eight times the size of its head. I heard the heavy pounding of the drums muted by the adobe of the house as I screamed my song of solitary consciousness into the darkened city sky above me. I saw the muscle inside a shin as the red windows gazed out to the trees. I felt the headlights moments before I ran and seconds after I finished my kill.
I lost a star yesterday. I saw it fly away in the air as I sold my soul to the demon of self-gratification. Now I have a big red "X" instead of my star, the stolen energy of a child, and a wooden orange man instead of a live one.
Isn't life grand?
There is an orange man smiling and smoking above me right now. He doesn't have to worry about heartache or cancer or pesticides or the availability of peat because he is wood and paint. He smiles perpetually at my angst and I want to light his little fake cigarette and watch his whole body burst into flame the color of his coat. I want him to be every hope, every dream, every lost moment smoldering in ashes that will be whisked away on the next zephyr.
Last night I had to face my ego as it rose up and consumed me whole, leaving me a shuddering, weak, insipid mass of macerated tissue inside the cesspool of my desires. I lay there for a very long time after I was chewed up, digested, and excreted. I thought about nothing, I simply felt the rejection from a coveted character, the force of a habit so deeply imbedded that the mere act of witnessing its effects on my being had me hobbling the sloth of my self over to feed off another. I was shameless. I just couldn't stay within my pathetic prison upon the pavement without sucking another in with me.
So I found him leaning against his car, finishing his contracted duties of valet for the evening and I engaged him in mild banter, easing the verbiage into the realm of my rejection gently but swiftly so that, on some karmic realm, I was absolved of my guilt for the crime I could not stop myself from committing in my desperate attempt to save the drowning of my facade, the lifeline I cling to in this transitive world of shifting mediums. I live and die by my sexuality and I would not, could not let one mere fixation dislodge the whole omnibus of my psychosis. I left him and wandered bewildered back to the party then to the step, where I sat in dismay until I tripped out of the complex, across the street and into this surprisingly immense expanse of property that hosted a large ranch-style house and emitted the sounds of live grunge music. I hovered in the bushes, scaling the perimeter of the property until I located my stalker valet and the abandoned loveseat perched within hearing distance of the band and snuggled into hardened dirt groves that would later find me testing their solidity with the nails on my fingers. He asked if I was okay and I nodded, evading his eyes and slinking to the convenient seat steps away.
He was 26 and as I reached for him I needed every year of his youth to fill every empty hole in my soul. I devoured him desperately, with the hunger of a molting rat snake blinded by its transformation and vulnerable as it swallows whole its victim eight times the size of its head. I heard the heavy pounding of the drums muted by the adobe of the house as I screamed my song of solitary consciousness into the darkened city sky above me. I saw the muscle inside a shin as the red windows gazed out to the trees. I felt the headlights moments before I ran and seconds after I finished my kill.
I lost a star yesterday. I saw it fly away in the air as I sold my soul to the demon of self-gratification. Now I have a big red "X" instead of my star, the stolen energy of a child, and a wooden orange man instead of a live one.
Isn't life grand?