IT’S BEEN A WHILE12/08/2012

It’s been a while, forever it seems. I feel bloated, filled with words that I’ve kept hidden away from the pests that plague me: words that are considered pesticide in this golden world. I feel as though the pesticide I’ve bottled up inside me is reaching its fullest point. But what exactly is the fullest point? After all, these words, this “pesticide” is all figurative. Figurative for words that could cause great harm to the ones they’re directed to. All this poetry and hidden heartfelt cries are never decoded, nor are they even cared for. They need to be nurtured; they need to be nursed into good feelings and happiness. But everyone knows this never happens. These hidden cries get pushed around, and folded and molded into something far worse, something darker than my own thoughts. - Darker than the entities choking you. They become, you. But what are you - A weasel sniffing out its next meal?  I am tired, I am very tired. Working and working, saving and working. For what is the reason? I do not know, yet a reason guides my decision. A reason so powerful as to change my way of life: Something subconscious I presume. But what is my subconscious but a part of my own brain? And is not my brain, MY brain? I control this organ like the rest in my body no? Who decides what happens in my own body. The entity known as the all powerful? Or something darker? Maybe I don’t want to know the answer. I just want to finish this session, spill the organs I need to carry on with my night, and sleep away my anger. Anger is still filling me like a pesticide. What is to become of this anger I keep hidden away? A question I’ve rounded my rant down to yet again. I do not know, so stop asking myself. I have accepted the fact that I do not control even my own brain, it is like a computer, calculating away at the seconds I’ve remaining. I wish to use these seconds to spread my pain across this barren desert. I want cacti to rise from my ashes and repel any who dare walk over my death ground. This is my realm and any who enter here will not walk away untouched. A horror movie perhaps? A person making gold from my misery. I do wish to see this. I wish to see the end of this persons day, when he crawls his selfish body into bed for a nights rest. I wait to climb onto his chest and wrap my slimy fingers around his throat and squeeze the very breath from his lungs. Such a dark, grotesque thought. But so beautiful in its symmetry. An idea so brilliant it can be folded into many, many different forms. A lifeless body, my favorite. A murder, again my favorite, and a crime unsolved. A blissful rest I would have. I want my cacti to bloom, with the black flowers of my heart. Look at even this writing, and at all the “I” that have been written and started sentences in this passage. So selfish a writer to include his own thoughts. Shall I? “Oh, how I wish to comfort others”. Sound better? This is not true, filthy liar. I know you, I know how you really feel and think. You want nothing but the pain of these others. The others who have helped you through so much, and want good things for you. You want bad things for the others. Only bad things, things that you dream of, things that you try to create. But fate has its own plans does it not? And you know this, yet you still follow in these silly foot steps you have created yourself. Following your own dreams has led you in circles, and now you have once again found yourself sniveling at your own feet. Defeated like the weaker dog in a wild fight for dominance. You have been dominated, weak one, now go and be fodder for the others. The ones you have tried so hard to pain and plague. You will now be eaten like grapes, slowly picked away until only your bones remain. Then you will be hung, and every bone broken, and your marrow sucked away by the ants that invade your unprotected body. Once again, you are food for the world you hate so much.