Capetonification

Life of a free man
No job
No rent
Nowhere to be
No one to see
Modern shackles
Drifting
Away as the day
Becomes long
We eat
We talk
We smoke
And drink
And watch the ocean.
It talks to us. Whispering.
Sshhhhhhhh...
Soothing us
Telling us its okay
The little cove we
Inhabit
Is a grayeyard.
Millions stranded
In death
As evidenced by
The cracked, bleached
Discarded and forgotten
Shells.
We six are the only
Humans left on this
Planet.
Free men.
Modern day strandloopers.
Reborn.
My turn
Has come.
I grab the toilet roll
The flag of our new-found
FREEDOM
And go shit in the
Sand.

its a smell she has.
i freakishly sniff my fingers after they've been inside her
her smell
it is sex itself
zero to hard in 10 mental images
A Pavlovian reprobate
I think of her body.
breasts untouched by the effects of the world
small nipples
a pink so perfect
Like the buds of a flower personally crafted by god
long legs
firm flanks
sleek belly
smooth ivory skin
speckled in freckles.
I want to connect the dots with my tongue
on her oh-so-fucking-beautiful body

she's in my blood
strumming my heart
stretching it
tearing at it
slamming it
ripping it the fuck up
like some ode to Jimmy Hendrix

She is a goddess
Her body a temple
When I worship between those walls
my grip on reality weakens
the world is nothing
there are no thoughts
no memories
no cares
no responsibilities
no past no future
All that exists is that room
on that bed
at that moment
at that moment
I am uplifted
I am exulted
I am repented
saved
hallelujah

Some Call it love
Sex
Fucking
the pinnacle of human connection
to be so deep
so elevated
so completely consumed by a moment
an act of shared desire
a person

I look up from my keyboard.
No room.
No goddess.
around me the office shuffles along.
I put my fingers to my nose
I can still smell it.
Smell her.
Sex itself.

taste,
tongue,
saliva shared.
push,
down,
to the bed.
tug,
tear,
skin so fair.
stroke,
touch,
hair so red.
fountain,
gush,
so fucking wet.
ram,
ride,
get in there.
soft,
hard,
incongruous pair.
in,
out,
out,
in,
I am your sin.
sheets,
moist,
sweat everywhere.
rough,
hard,
fucked apart.
gentle,
slow,
change of tempo.
come,
give,
thrill me please.
rub,
dip,
that beautiful clit.
lost,
found,
passion abound.
mad,
tense,
losing my head.
dream,
dazed,
fucking amazed.
lips,
locked,
bottom and top.
hit,
shot,
beat the fuck outta my heart.
end,
near,
a fate I fear.
climax.
ecstasy,
the death of me.
falling,
spiraling,
into the release of all things...

It's weird how things work.
Despite my unconscious concerted effort to do otherwise, my life continues to move into what our society terms as a "ordinary".
Ordinary.
It's a big word that.
It means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.
A piece of prison ass finds that tearing sensation in his pooper to be ordinary if you want some context.

To me, it's the promise of suburbia.
On the outside it looks good.
Got the wife.
Got the car.
Got the beautiful kid.
The house.
The dog.
But there I am, in the dark, undermining it all. You can't see it.
I'm too good. But I'm there.
Stocking the fuel for the fires that will eventually consume the foundations of this beautiful life.

I don't know when I stopped being noble.
I don't remember when lying became a way of life for me.
I didn't see the moment I lost my faith.
I couldn't tell when I became a traitor to everything I was raised to hold high and holy.

Someone asked me the other day if I was happy.
All I could say was that I didn't wake up every day wanting to kill myself.
"Well, I'm not unhappy." I said nonchalantly.

I don't know if I can stop this journey I'm on.
Don't know if I really 'want' it to stop.
I'm not helpless.
I just don't want to be helped.

I've built this life up too high.
When the walls come down - they're going to kill me.