Blood on the Keyboard

Sometimes you have to force it. You push and you shove and something comes of it. Good or bad, it’s already made and there’s no reason to let it be seen. Or unseen. Sometimes I forget which. So I sit here, exhausted yet not sleeping, conjuring verse that is nothing more that verbal masturbation. It has it’s place and purpose, but outside of the self it’s meaning is twisted and warped so badly it must be kept hidden, in grains of wood, the slosh of the beer at the bottom of the can. How blessed must be the god-spoken, how tortured. Beauty and terror intertwined in a dance of convulsions and lies. Grasp it, and it turns to snake, biting your hand. Let it loose, and it flies in your face, a hummingbird refusing to be ignored. Close your eyes, and it whispers in your mind, telling you all the things you loathe to hear. Close your ears, and it crawls in your skin, making everything it touches filthy. Open up to it, and it slithers down your throat, taking residence in your heart, reminding you just exactly how un-worthy you are.

Midnight envelopes the world, hiding secrets like a room behind a closed Door. Traveling through the darkness listening to a cacophony of the Dying, of futile lives that once shown Radiant, now extinguished forevermore. Silken wings soar along the night sky, Beating in tune with the sound of bodies falling. A Soul is but a trinket to this beast of the night, You cannot escape the fate it brings. Winds Whispered tales from the future, hope is lost nevermore.

I sit here chilled to the bone, sweating in this room. Heat rolls off the monitors I stare at, the towers around my feet. I know I should look away, should walk away, but how can I? There's always so much left to do, so much I havn't done. How can I sleep when I know every hour asleep is a missed opportunity, a laugh or smile gone. That passed up invited, that ignored message, they're indicators of what I always struggle with. I'm in too deep, been following that white rabbit of complete submersion for so long. Books, music, videos, games, forums, images, messages, the list goes on and on. Turning over stones of memories, old screen names, dead boards, and offline servers. Where does it end? Does it ever? Is this it? Unbearable yearning that won't stop, won't go away. The distraction of life can be fleeting, can be meaningless in the dark hours of night as you blink away too many missed hours of sleep, too many days awake in a row, still chasing. How can I stop, why should I stop, what is better? What is worse? It contains all the good and all the evil I could ever want, could ever handle, so why would I need anything else. Decisions, some mean little, some mean alot, but in the end they barely matter. And that's the hook, isn't it? If I mess up there's always a fallback, a new stream, a new game, and forum. It's so damning, so many new opportunities to replace the ones missed. How sweet it is to find that new high. Cheat, hack, sabotage, fake, win, lose, repeat. The ones that play it straight are just lying to themselves, and the ones that don't are always one step behind, one step ahead, always fighting for something better, a better victory, a new experience.