masochism/hedonism
Q: why am i putting myself through this?
A: because i want to.
all i've ever sought is stability; not, so i thought, a tall order.
i'm not, and never have, expected perfection and smooth roads. only faith and trust (sans depedance) paving our foundation... and now... hm. perhaps now i am looking up at a vanilla sky from the rubble of caved in ghost-collumns, swinging from the scaffolding of a question mark.
i should, by all means, climb out - run, escape! escape! - to higher ground, for fear that this pit cave in on itself again, and smother me so that this time none of the light cracks through--wiry wisps of sun to climb out on. there is not too much left in me (inward emaciation, outward rippling, plascticity). but my bones remain burried in the tumbled earth, their home in the clay where they were grown thousands of years ago. an so i [delight in] resign[ing] myself to sitting on cracked stone, acquiescing to crevices, waiting, waiting this through. for the flicker of that thing that my faith says will come around. i do not know what this thing is. i tire of dealing in faith: dead currency. now i only keep a few bills in my wallet, for the novelty. and if the flicker never comes? patience in vain, disection in vain, for this earth to resurrect itself into a mountain. is it true?- hours binged and purged. i fear my bones will become worm-wood--the atrophy and distortion of seeds. my flowers fated to never crack the topsoil.
so i wait.
winter comes soon - already some mornings there is frost. my endurance is waning, teeth grating. i'll have to go soon, lest the ice impregnate my mind [or worse].
Chained myself to this rock; breath is smoke signals.