Let my masterpiece

Be the one

That pulls me

Into the ground

Let it be

The one I take

To the grave

David Burdett

6/25/2023

Drinking. It's not a disease ; no disease ends when you can no longer afford it.

It's not a problem. It's the solution , to lonley nights and long days that need something to look forward to.

Genetic. The Dr. says one's predisposed to this because of every generation before you having died from it.

If anything , this is the one way to connect and bond with those who came before you. who died too early in your life to have any memories with.

Born with a bottle near by, hopefully things end the same way

Magic admired

In the dark woods

Or perhaps collected

In a borrowed glass jar

Having to remind yourself

Wonder was never meant

To be contained

You told me the truth. I should have listened:

“I’m radioactive dog shit to women.”

At the time, I chided you for saying such a terrible thing about yourself. However, I would eventually learn the truth. I had all the puzzle pieces in my possession, I just didn’t realize it yet. I am a bit slow in areas of the heart. Even when logic is screaming right in my Pollyanna face.

When I did snap those pieces together, the picture sickened me.

You hate all women. They are either “demonic”, borderline personality disordered, narcissistic feminists (your favorite way to diagnose every female around you), or they are insipid, bleating sheep. You hate them all.

Click

You are at odds with everyone in every single area of your life, but curiously, it’s never by your doing. At odds with your work, your church, your family, your ex, your kids, your friends, and society in general. But somehow, it’s always THEM. You have zero self-accountability. None.

Click

You engaged someone in a shared incestuous fantasy with possibly even pedophilic undertones with no regret. You eagerly became one of her many “pets” when a morally upright and psychologically sound MAN would have blocked an individual like that immediately as soon as he realized what was going on with her. When confronted, you became defensive, “It’s in the aether,” you said. You were quick to downplay the gravity and implications of your sick compulsions. You are both sick fucks and should seek help. Yes, this revelation was the ultimate deal-breaker for me. I cannot and will not associate with this depravity.

Click

We don’t speak any longer (thank God) and I’m sure if anyone were to ask you, I was 100% the problem. You’d tell them how I ended up being a covert narcissist and tricked you. Yes… Go ahead and place me on that huge shelf alongside every other evil woman who has ever wronged you in your poor, victimized life.

I'm not perfect, but I own every tender morsel of my bullshit. I don't cower behind the perceived ill actions of others or behind circumstances. I OWN what's mine. The weak-minded make excuses and hide.

I’ve scraped the memory of you off on the curb and on the lawn the best I could, but I ended up throwing those shoes away anyhow. The nausea comes in waves. The sight of your name in print, or hearing it spoken makes me fight the urge to vomit. Sequela of the initial exposure.

The radiation dose was not fatal. However, it was more than enough to sicken me.

I was sitting on a park bench. This book I had been looking forward to reading had developed an unfortunate pacing issue. However, I insisted on giving it one more chance before relinquishing it to the library drop box.

A friendly-looking dog, off-leash, came trodding up to me. She dropped to her belly and sniffed with great interest at something under the bench. I looked down and saw a piece of sandwich someone had dropped. The dog noisily licked her lips and inched closer.

Suddenly, a male voice firmly called, “Sadie. Leave it.”

I looked up and the man smiled at me. Upon hearing his command, the dog rose and immediately went to the man’s side, irresistible object now forgotten. Together, they continued their walk through the park.

I gazed down at the book in my lap, pondering the wonders of Sadie the Good Girl. Here I am, figuratively leashed, a rather dimwitted animal in comparison. I strain hard against my restraints, stubbornly insisting on getting my own stupid animal way. Rebellious. Frustrated.

How I wish I could master that command: ‘Leave it’. If only I could abandon the pursuit of things clearly not meant for me, without so much as a look back.

As I returned the book that afternoon, I also decided I could stand to be a lot more like Sadie.

The soft, steady rain on the metal roof is soothing, but she longs for more this night. She sighs and stretches in her bed, checks her phone. Nothing. Every time she gets a notification, she hopes it's him.

She can't stop thinking about him. He's intelligent, funny, and a little bit of a nerd. And those gorgeous eyes of his... they are so striking. Also, his voice has a certain quality she loves. He has a humble confidence as he speaks on matters he is passionate about, with a distinct masculine growl that runs throughout. He has a breathy laugh she longs to feel against the hollow of her neck and along the insides of her thighs.

There’s no way around it: he turns her on like no other. Her attraction toward him is magnetic. Gravitational.

Yes, his physical nearness and the sound of his voice at her ear would be divine on this rainy night. She feels a tingling warmth and knows sleep will not come now, not without release.

She wants to call him, but what does she say?

Hey... I want you to fuck me relentlessly.

She imagines him taking her roughly from behind, the fingers of one hand digging into her hip as he pulls her against him with hard thrusts. The way he ropes a handful of her long hair around his wrist, pulling like reins. Her squirms and noises of pleasure increase his excitement.

He whispers a breathless warning into her ear that he intends to destroy her in the most beautiful way. She shudders hard against him, crying out loudly. His chin grazes the skin between her shoulder blades as she finishes coming noisily beneath him. He can no longer fight her snug sleeve massaging him rhythmically. He groans as he empties himself into her. His grip on her eases and he slowly plants kisses across her shoulders and on her back. He says her name sweetly while his pulse pounds wetly within her. Indeed, she is destroyed for all others now.

These thoughts make her swallow hard with lust. Her imagination is one brutally horny slut.

Shit.

Frustrated, she decides that her favorite toys will have to do tonight.

Thank God for technology…

I live in the gayborhood. For pride month, they repainted the lines (There are rainbows painted at the intersections). It got me thinking. Should I repaint my lines? What lines do I cross, or not cross, that I should reevaluate? There is magic in renewal. Is there not? What if I cross lines I should stop crossing, and cross lines I should have been exploring why they even fucking exist in the first place? What if lines that were faded, could be repainted, and everyone would see something new? What if I saw something new? What if I saw you?