my body became soft, but dry; wet and pulpy,
skin weathered and thin.
imperceptible almost, predominantly a lack of self recognition.
at the highest point of the day it is still unsettlingly dark. thoughts blur into small pools of half crystallized fragments of a conscious mind beginning to grow old.
I am a fruit on the verge of rot. I don't know who I am. My lips hurt. It is always on these days that I commit self to page. Gnawing frustration at death and rebirth, sans transcendence.
careful not to move too much, crepey skin threatening to break under the weight of the fermenting inner juice, ouroboric indolence. lament regretful meals of men and time. haven't eaten women. women've eaten me, filling out curves of the feminine shadow of yin. unbalanced ritual, ritualistic imbalance.
couple of pills, the sun brightens once more. clearer sight, angled body, the day itself strengthens.
attachments that were once burning, settle and sleep in the shadows. few hours of freedom bought with money, masculine sensibility embodied by dipping into the fire you gave me, fresh in the scars of my hardening skin, inextinguishable.
rejoice, basking in the pleasures of action. skin thick, i can push my way through the world, its people, its noise, and see the weakness powering every illusion.
the dragons are invigorating, i want them all. hungry, lean, mean, ecstasy. all weaknesses of mine become a straight fire awaiting my will and mine alone. i ravish in a way i know only i am able. i have enough to give with excess, abundance, i am no longer afraid to go without. the fabric of the universe centers on the divine yang of my soul's north star.
it is difficult to pinpoint when the drop begins. a step too confident, a stumble, body bruising instead of holding strong. i can see the horizon of the middle of the month. focus grows misdirected, compulsive, destructive, hateful. scritching to find the source of the decay, i find an incandescent pleasure in ripping out strands of hair, one by one, relief when each root pulls free, ordering my body, i will be in order.
i am so autonomous, my self opinion is the only one. at the heights of creation, it is i and a few ghosts on a tower of my own. sometimes it’s wrong.
i know my time is up, and only want to fall with grace. but for a moment i was us both, for a moment i was home.
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