Conflict of Creation



Your country is the night, and I’m just a stranger on foreign shores. Those underpasses and the taste of electricity on your neck; they make me shake with rage. Fantasies about the times when pleasure and love were all there ever was. Serenade them as if they were the sun, just make sure never to let them know. There should be distance. There should be chaos. There should be so many yesterdays that can never be put right. Aside from my writing, you’re the most important force in my world, although you’re now a stranger. A figure as distant as the moon. So many times I’ve seen your face- so many nights when I wanted to let you know you were on my mind. But what’s the point in pleasantries. If we can’t tear each other’s clothes off and destroy ourselves in the process, then what’s the point in exchanging tame words to appease these fears that will only linger. On every street, I see your face. In every shadow, I feel your heart next to mine. I see bodies that excite me; bodies that stir my loins, yet none of them hurt me the way you do. I imagine nailing each and every one of them, but there’s only one who drives me to put pen to paper. Women come and go. Their faces changing like the seasons, yet you remain a constant. I guess I should be thankful, yet you won’t be getting any thanks from me. If I can’t have it all, then you’re not worth having. If you won’t surrender every last inch, then you can keep on giving yourself to the lowly ones who know nothing of magic. And they don’t. They know of possessions and image. They know how to fit in and look the part, but if you took these things away, there would be little worth keeping. All surface and no feeling. You know how it is as well as I. Pity them for being so gullible, and pity them knowing they can never make you feel how you did with me. So many boring relationships. So many useless visions.  Piss on every last shit-eating smile. Piss on every last set of pouting lips. Set fire to the popular ones. Hack away at just about everyone except those who know what it’s like to be left with nothing. I believe in no exits. I believe only in the conflict of creation.

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