All those men inside me

The tune of your smile gently opens old distant frontiers, making me forget myself, who I am, what I am. And I start to think, I’m someone else, someone without a past, my past. A freshness of your touch guides me toward nostalgia of my innocence, lost somewhere in times before rain began time. That forgotten beauty of my soul can easily convince me that I need you to open my days every single morning, and close them in the depths of every night. I could even deeply care for everything which you think that you represent, purity and innocence at heart…

But, that wouldn’t be me, that haven’t been me for ages now. I am that disturbed occult preacher, whipping your naked soul. This wild heart should be your punishment, a twisted omen for what you deserve when you tell a lie. And your lies are kept in pits so dark and deep, revealed by your consciousness only to souls like mine… deranged by habit.

So, I’m going to forgive you the half of it, because you showed me who you truly are… I’m not going to enter you, this time out of pity! You’re lucky, I always show an affinity toward sexual release, but I rarely show affinity for absolution… many faces in here, in the kaleidoscope of my personality, and I’m showing you just one; though it seems that some men in me are getting really tired. Next time… well, we'll see how it goes, why bother and try to predict the future!? It is what it is, how it is…

My potent pale ember… we are victims of ourselves. 

Another day another lie left in ruins, somewhere out of sight;)

 

Twenty Tens

Deep distant echoes of my voice murmuring gibberish, advising me for something of high significance, something that I find equally pointless. The full satisfaction of not knowing, and the curiosity of taking another path, just because I can, a path more secret and less known.

The poets of old sing in their long forgotten faith for showers of beauty and grace found only in perfection, divinity and what’s known; but I’m not after innocence and nobility, romantic notions of hope. It’s the twenty tens, and hope has forsaken all lands in this world. In this youth, we chase for imperfection, through mistakes and sins we strive to learn and become more.

It’s difficult to accept that life operates outside order, because that way the Lord’s free will and his almighty power would be disrupted, God would have no meaning in a chaotic universe. And his freedom intended for us is our condemnation, a prison of the heart bricked from even more gibberish. 

So, I choose to be subversive and move like an ocean current. In my occult heathen excommunicated ways I aim to reach our true selves, my heresy is toward any cage attempting to free us from choice. Not to waste resources on hope, but to create and improve overall alchemy of life.