And I Will Bleed...

I have come to realize that I need to change. Something is coming, I don't know what, but something needs to step in and make me feel. I draw the circles, I call the Elementals, I invoke and evoke, I throw the die. I lay in child pose to make it come - grab me by the wrists and shake me, prove that something does exist within me, that my soul does indeed function. I need to know that I am not merely a devoid shell, not just brain matter connected to a pumping heart silk-lined wrapped in this pallid skin. There is more than two feet shuffling because the wired network upstairs says so, right?

I want to know that I am alive.

The very first time I walked these streets, I knew I was home. There was piss in the air, grimy, dirty, dank odors, and smog, but my nose surpassed all of that. The only thing that infected my senses was the totality-the madness and the settlement-the sexy and the squirming lechery-the hustle bustle main streets and the dark corner back alleys. Ah, there was an Elysium Field in the mundane plane to cavort in! A misfit could blend in, only now the new trick was to fall into another costume. Even though plastic Barbies thankfully did not hold complete reign, talking with a fanged smile sold pretty well, but not enough.

I embrace the addiction.

The itch has spread from the outer surfaces - pretty boys, suits, artist junkies and flunky poets - the elusive dream every good little girl whimpers to placate their self esteem with. I might have an upper edge with having a psyche already so fucking scarred. I just need to find which game I belong to.

I am neatly filed, accurately and pathologically described and transcribed. I represent the challenges and the pacifications that an identity encounters when against better intentions, it becomes jello. Preserving even a fraction of my insanity has become priority.

And I will bleed, bleed till time actually suffocates under the crumbling Moon. I will inhale the dust She descends in and absorb it within every orifice. Make me whole again as the numbness attacks my diseased essence.... I will drop to my knees, your sugar coated sycophant....rain down upon me, dare you grace my repulsion, my reviled facade with the tartness coursing through your labels...the venom you taunt me with. Loom over my tongue, threatening to lock away if I so much whisper that uncertainty, that undeniably intoxicating hanger...Stick me. Hurt me. Cut deep deep deep deep deeper-there is no markable depth. Darling weaponry for free disposal. This is the only time I will beg. To kill pleasure is to kill me. Isn't that what the snake wants? To ride where it slithers? Where it tricks its cosmic Chaos?