Beaten Path

It’s 2:56 am and I can’t sleep. It’s so disquieting listening to one’s own heartbeat in a dark and quiet room. Coupled with the jittery physical sensation caused by my new meds, and I’ve got my personal horror show with a rhythmic soundtrack provided by the erratic metronome of my heart.

Heart failure is a powerless position. I’m a problem solver. So I’m trying to figure out what to do. I guess the power is in compliance.

It’s so odd to realize a day arrives when your body works against you and becomes both the enemy and its torture.

Why post this shit? Because I can’t walk into the street and scream and the jitters are forcing the ejaculation.

And I know I’m running out of time.

Too soon my heart will beat me to death; too soon the sounds of my broken heart will become rote.  How much longer before my heartbreak provides a soundtrack to a beaten path?

Empties

FuneralSee the thing about grief and loss is that only the one experiencing the loss or the sorrow has the right to determine the length of time his emptied heart or his saddened soul can grieve, experience, or feel. And if he wishes to feel the emotions and thoughts that his grief produces, he can. For ten minutes or as long as he fucking decides to deal with his new reality.

Fruited Plain

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Can you stand nude in the middle of the room with your arms by your sides and endure the criticism of your manhood? That’s the cost of moral integrity. Cowards cover-up their shortcomings with holy books. You ate from the tree of knowledge – own it. Fig leaf / parchment it’s all cowardly covers. Saints stand in front of God. They don’t hide behind Him.