what do i do

when the brain falls short

it doesn’t do what i command

it doesn’t work like it should

like a machine with a missing (or an extra) screw

when the mouth speaks too much

and any attempt at controlling it is to no avail

the tongue slips uncontrollably

damaging here and damaging there

when the hands stop producing

and tremble with fright, the more you order them not to

the never straight line that you excel at

and every time, redo, redo redo

what do i do

when the eyes look away

from that which i deny

and lids close quickly before

being obliged to acknowledge the disaster

when the feet move counterwise

dividing your heart in two

do i want to move towards

or away from what is making me stronger?

when the two pieces of your heart

don’t want to join in unison

they just stay enemies, victimising

their host, their support, my body

my body is not mine

it has a mind, a soul of its own

not even my own body needs me to thrive.

It has a new master now

controlling and thrashing about

all the fortresses and empires i built over the years.

my work, my life, my pride,

all crumbling down like nothing.

A blank of milling metal. Of titanium or chrome cobalt. Of zirconia.

A blank slate to carve all your desires in, realising them once there's no going back. They're milled- metal lost, solidity taken, but new shapes left behind. New teeth. New mouths. New lives for the potential wearers. All the mechanics involved in removing what was once a part of us to uncover what was always meant to be. From a blank slate to meaning, to functionality, to purpose. Will we manage to survive? Will we be moulded and beaten and broken and fixed and withstand it all?

Let's hope so. But we have to start with a blank slate to have a chance at success.

I have a job.

I have people who love me (or do they pretend to?)

I am in a relationship.

I have one absolutely amazing friend.

I smile easily.

I am relatively normal.

So why do I feel dragged down all the time? How is it that as soon as I am in solitude, I feel everything crashing down?

Don’t I still have a job?

Don’t I still have people who love me?

What do I want more?

What do I need more?

Have all my abilities merged into one, melting into one big excrement of disappointment? Have all that I have been given been taken away from me so stealthily that I can never recover fron the betrayal? Have all my people realided who I really am and replaced me with the who they really want? Has my self confessed nuisance of a being been ingrained so much that finally those around me have started to believe? Is my nonchalant attitude to everything being reflected towards me?

I totally deserve it.

Do you ever get tired of living? Of knowing that though you have more things you should be looking forward to, as according to the imposing rules of society, you know you can never be truly happy? Not neccessarily sad, but not happy either. Stuck in between in a void limbo of uncertainty. Not sure whether there's something psychologically wrong or you are just not destined for great things. I don't want to live a meaningless life, but I have no motivation to make it a meaningful one. I love making other people happy, and I know they will do the same if I ask them to. But do I want to be happy? The comfort and safety which this limbo provides is not all that bad. Is everyone secretly living a sad life behind happy faces? How do some people find it so easy to live, when all the happiness which we encounter is forever shortlived? How are people not tired of living, if they've done everything they possibly can, and anything from this point forth cannot make them happier than they have already been? When they know that the following years will be an endlessly stretched repetition of the previous year? I cannot understand.

Fingers glissading and caressing every black and white slither. Waltzing their way through a harmonious symphony, every fingerprint leaves its mark again and again on the face of every hum, every key. The result; an orgy of highs and lows, of beauty and of pain, of hunger and of satisfaction. The four keys or so which consummate every chord dance their way through, and sensually touch the eardrums, beating playfully with soft, soft breaths. Each note leaves the listener yearning for more, for that last drop to quench the unsatiable thirst, the last crumb to satisfy the hunger.

The artist spots and blots the colours.

She shifts and dips the brushes.

She sloshes and mushes the oils.

Sings and hums to the music.

The notes and lines dancing on the canvas.

The soul of life actualised.

The canvas no longer cloth.

The paint no longer liquids.

The water no longer cleanses.

Instead,

The canvas is the bed.

The paints are the starcrossed lovers.

The water is the amiable intruder.

The canvas warmly welcomes the sensual paints, oozing and melting into each other. One breathes into the other, whilst holding hand to another; the adultering adults. The water is the betrayed spouse, the deceived, and the deceiver. An orgy of oils and acrylics, exploding within themselves, showing what they truly are, exposing their true colours.

What beauty doth the artist gives? The artist gives us what we want to see, what we want to hear, to listen, to taste and to touch. The artist presents us with a tailor made experience which no sane mind or body can deny. The artist gives us beauty in perfect imperfections, once she sets her ten fingers to work. The artist is in herself the artist of life.

He sits next to me, timid, mild, serene. He is all I ever hoped for, and all I hoped I’d never end up with. It all depends on the scale as it is during the moment. Does it tip towards me being considered? Or is there a steep lopside towards being there to quench his needs? As he sits beside me, breathing softly, I wonder how such a tragedy can be so beautiful.

Oh.

Ohh. Pure, heavenly bliss. We fit together just like a divinely made jigsaw puzzle, meant to be enjoyed by us, and us alone. We slot together and merge into one harmoniously as his body melts against mine. He caresses and traces, stares and awes.  Euphoria dances on his lips as he whispers my name like I'm the only thing who's ever shown him happiness. Like I'm the one person who has ever allowed him to divulge his desires and acted on them.

I love you, he said. And teased.

I love you, he whispered. And bit.

I love you, he breathed.

And he came.

The ecstasy fries my brain into numbness. I could feel his love penetrate me, oozing and spreading that warm feeling inside my body. An embrace from the inside, the burn was exciting me, leaving me craving for more, for more. We were skin on skin but I tried pulling him closer, closer within me, closer to me.