Who’s Going To Pull The Pin?

i hate this

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It’s all in the associations, you know. You say wrists I think volleyball. But what’s in your mind?

Serious tho.

And if you think that’s fucked up, here’s the scary part: my associations were not only programmed in hell, but they were designed to switch depending on the observer.

Make sense? I hope so, because I feel like this is my last chance to make sense to people who came from the other side of the tracks.

To get through hell, I didn’t have any steadfast associations. No loyalty to seeing things one way or another. I separated, you know.

I reflected. Not deflected. Not projected. I reflected what I saw.

The approach had some big flaws. On this plane, who was I living so ironically? Who was I if I was nothing to be everything at once?

I mirror what you cannot see, what you need in order to keep climbing up your path.

Should I stop?

What does stop mean to you? Wait, don’t think about the answer. Too late? Shit, now you get it.

I don’t know how to be different. This is the way I’ve done things for a while. My armor looks weird.

I drew the short straw. I was not in the control group. And we were pitted against each other. Over and over and over.

Even though, before I was born, I chose to come back as one who would withstand great suffering, I also chose to forget because that’s part of life on this plane.

And I get caught up like anyone else.

Have you ever heard of an acid guide? A person who stays sober to travel with another as they get high on an acid trip? It was big, so I hear, in the 60s.

Fucking around in people’s minds. Walking ahead on those pathways with a lamp, playing God simply because they were given permission.

I grew up in these circles. I was raised there. Never on this earth in this body have I been without interference.

Now, is that a belief planted or the truth? What is truth? Outside of God. And what is God really to anyone shown that He can be mimicked?

How am I supposed to feel safe with a bomb in my head? Who has been answering my prayers? Why won’t you show yourself?

If it’s one who knows about these things, how can I trust?

And how can I live in the arms of one who does not know about mind bombs?

When I don’t know every single cue that could set it off, when I haven’t worked out the antidote to each pocket of arsenic?

When I have yet to live intimately with anyone who knows how to code and hasn’t harmed me.

(the image above comes from A CLOCKWORK ORANGE)

Sun Swallow

Barren space bellies belie
well-timed easy smiles
hands clasped behind backs, twinkling eyes

Born in a black hole
raised in that vacuum
you become intimate with echoes
the minuscule variance in colds
the way you feel between solids
what’s yours and what was that

It’s just me, it’s just me
frantic mantras like fizzy ginger-ale
coming of age under Mare Imbrium
two-way eyes adjust slower
fingers straight to mapped crevices

Though I have watched sloped jaws sneer at wonder
and slick, sundrunk bellies implode
I believe in love
I exist, real as the rest