Photo by Franco Deleo, edited by Chris Lotts
Pg. 70986
We drank sake and danced in Kimonos behind paper walls, casting mad shadows across the lotus floating lazily in the pond.
Fond, but not in love, finding the intercourse in a discourse of ideas, weaving thoughts in and out, playfully making mirth, birthing and murdering idealisms with every new day.
The yellow of that dress amongst the cherry blossoms, it's that time of month again, she's come to mourn the spring time, finding refuge in feelings that die as quickly as life is breathed into them.
It's already Tuesday somewhere. The new day is never promised. A can of peaches rots in the back of the cupboard. A coat of pink paint lay under the now gray walls.
She was amused? A muse mystified by the lack of creation she was inspiring, like her keep wasn't kept, misery in the mystery which was his true love. She asked impossible things and he denied her, not for a lack of trust, but for the respect of sacred things.
Rings under his tired eyes, his burdens and blessings in the same breath, told to be quiet, to share was to be conceited, a drone hardly needed, personality just a stain on a rather unremarkable person.
I want to bring joy and laughter and light, to inspire delight. I want to give all I can, to share all I can offer and not offer more than I can share. I walk these escher stairs, lost, coming and going like every breath is burdensome. Tortured by my own imagination and frustrations, fighting myself wrathfully when there are none to fight withal, slowly poison myself when no ones looking.
Come see my little town, glass houses filled with paper dolls, come walk through my rose garden, barren but for thorns. Come hear my songs of praise to singing, come walk a mile in my shoes and tell me I should stop to shake the stones out every once and awhile.
There's a lot to be taken into account, a lot of counting numbers sinking down, a lot of talk about not talking about it, so much anger at strangers who don't give fucks about it. Global villages of geniuses and fools, taking turns on rolls of magic dice, it must be nice to see your reflection laid before you.