finding proof

We are not thinking the same things. You should know that. I’m not here for that anymore.

I picked up the guitar, and my fingers remembered. To flatten and stab, to pull off and hammer on. I would ask them where they’ve been but I’m gaining confidence in just letting them go. They are going.

Attention seeking is true. And the world’s mostly shy. The places I will go now that I’m not tied to that rock and that cloud, blinding me and dragging me. How does a wall drag a person so?

The idea of the soul and the notion of the heart. The deception from those mouths, drawn swirling down the drain. Room for something more. Get out of the way. Room for something with stickiness. So it’s best to admit it. I work best when my mind is crowded with sex. I am home when I’m warming my hands and circling that mound. I might not trust a voice on the phone. I need it to come from an organic farm. I need it to come from the hormones in my throat. The taste of arousal as it crosses my eyes. Still the world’s mostly shy. And I’m running my length and growing inside it.

And my table remains folded. And that is temporary. My bed is far too large but this is temporary. And the things that I want have returned to the center. And the clothing I wear has returned to my inner. And there are those that’ll stop by. And those I’ll undress. There are those just to remind me. Those I’ll forget. But the world that holds promise, is the one I’ll create.

art credit; retrieved from superawesome artist unknown