Another night is gone,
The goddamn birds are chirping,
And while I think I was productive,
I’m sure it wasn’t worth it.
My eyeballs ache from skullbound flashes,
Each tendon in my body is moaning,
The sun and sky are so bright with light,
That “back inside” seems to be an order instead of what’s right,
I hang back at the door, or sheet, or flap,
Screwing up my mind and face to think about,
Why despite the price,
I race the setting rays into the West,
A challenge that bears no chance to win and promises self inflicted malice.
It feels so nice to taste the liquor of the stars,
While moonlight drips down as whimsy scented honey,
Transforming us all into the Cosmos serving bar.
Thick blue hued amber smoked into an untouchable glow,
Spirit boosting tinsel to top our nightly gifted box.
Conjures whims and true lunacy,
Sets the true Faithful afloat,
In a boat atop the inbound light.
So, so, slow.
Anything and everything…spit fire or choke gargling on vomit…just a message in your own words.
(1st attempt at spoken word….written version below. Please stick past the 1:00 mark as it hits a much better rhythm and pulls together everything)
Because you and I have depth.
No shallow pieces of paper whipping in the wind here.
We’re fucking mountains with roots buried in lava.
Through chunks of earth.
Through underground lakes.
You and I are living statues giving statements.
Cut through miles of meat.
Let out rivers of blood.
No 2D, weak minded, single sided bullshit here.
Find the spinning core of pressurized EVERYTHING that powers our furnace.
I’m not powered by the drive for one thing.
I’m an addict.
I’m a fucking hero.
I’m a lunatic.
I’m a fanatic.
I’m an extremist.
I’m a fatalist.
I’m a romantic.
I’m passion given wings and no name.
I run on need.
I’ve been asked what makes me tick.
Why do I do it again?
Why am I so fucking sick?
Because I live on fear,
On love, on hope, on greed, on determination, on demands, on need, on want, on confusion, on chaos, on misery, on joy, on pleasure, on excess, on more.
I live on intensity.
I breathe it.
The world spits straight fire down my throat so hot that all I can beg for is a drink to put it out,
And a shot to start the burn again.
I’m not bored.
I’m scared that the moment it stops, I’ll be less interesting to myself.
That the world won’t have a reason for me to be around.
I’ll be normal.
And I don’t understand that word.
This is the only norm I know.
If I didn’t have this excuse, what would I be?
What would I call myself?
What excuse could I hide behind?
How could I explain the things I’ve done?
How would I explain my failures?
What if I didn’t fail?
What if it didn’t have to be so intense it hurt?
Even if it feels so good.
Love wouldn’t have to be so intense that it overwhelmed.
Passion so hot that nothing would ever live up to it again.
Confusion so baffling I couldn’t see a road out.
Joy so large that no laughter would fill it.
Chaos so overwhelming that the world would fall to pieces.
Pleasure so satisfying that nothing would ever be enough to replace it.
Past the screaming need for everything in spades.
For each emotion to be etched into me until I’m raw.
Way, way the fuck down there.
Beneath the lowest layers of urgency.
There is peace.
There is a quiet place that I can call part of me.
Part of the landscape of my soul.
Proof that I wasn’t always an adventurer.
Once, I was calm waters welcome moonlight to bathe across me.
I was a home where the word gentle wasn’t a foreign concept.
Where there was no race for adrenaline.
And that was okay.
All I have to do is take a breath and let myself submerge far enough to find it.
Go into the dark.
Into the deep.
Into the depths.