All The Wrong Topics dot com

selective memory.

time is of the essence, but I remember nothing of being born again… the crude matter of getting home was tiring my thoughts beyond compare… a turn of the wheel later, and the sour moments drift away as the door closes behind me… the compounded feelings of satisfaction and sensory overload were consuming a place that I could not lie to, the part of me that was not yet dead, and the rhythm of my heart kicked in at gradual steps behind my movements… layers of clothing fell away as I began to reach at the knobs to the bathroom, to relax inside a warm bath, and house my hindered state into a watery mercy… it hurt to ache this bad wanting nothing more than to bathe away stressful sources of my own decay… my mind was feeling this precise pinching motion deep within as my eyes shut out the light… the chug of the water as it streamed into the tub, and my bones cracking with the relief present in every drop of this liquid salvation… the tender frustration of finally giving up my pain in anticipation of the next day… I catapult into dreams that were never mine to begin with, but there I am, involved in another agony… the drama keeps the wet rag plastered to my face, the inhalations large enough to choke me if the water went in, and yet the shallow breathing became more of the monotone… I cannot ever remember the visions I’ve beheld, but in my mind’s eye I know that I was there again… following the destination unknown, with actions that the child has long since outgrown, and somewhere the darkness becomes uplifting to my spirit… a sensual sanctuary in the middle of the watery blank feeling that gravity has no hold over me today… the flight into something that isn’t quite tangible with a sense of touch, but a graceful instinct guided toward the tempting sound of sudden breath… it slows me down to a twitch and hum as the weightlessness flows in around me… a real place inside my head winks and nods at the silhouette of the love in my dreams, the only thing there for me to grasp with obvious fascination, and the caress is gentle enough to make my body shudder… the nerves come back, and the thoughts stifle those advances that make me want to wait no longer… the symbols dance aware that I must find release into this world I have known… the expressions lost upon empty lips as moistened with a rusty voice… the supple curving of my tainted tongue washes too much of my banter away like rains swept in by a hurricane… a violent dragging sensation as gravity takes me forward with improbable yet profound intuition… my senses come back into view, grazing the scar-lit star far above me, and the rag had slipped off my face in the furious awakening that has pulled me up from this cesspool underneath me… the ache aches no longer as the water flows out below me, and into the slept I fling myself… stirring these fragments of memory as I pull the sheets around my neck, and wait for the next day to be born from my soul, a transmission from some forgotten place…