Goodmorning, Glory

I feel, well in the sight of those who know and love me, I am slowing down time to accommodate my motives, my energy and my interests but I am still locked in the hindsight of fear, as it moves on to, accomplish its goals and desires on others, I find myself, chasing the feeling, moving away once noticed and standing in place as it devours others and looks at me, with the objective of alluding to my position as next in line. I am injuring, something, but I cannot see it, I can only feel it, I can tell that it is scratching at my mind’s doors, waiting for the next thought so it can send, a few screams through my consciousness, loving old things, learning new modes of love and turning 60, everyday. The term in which I have taken these gifts and claimed them as my own, has now pushed me to the cliff, I can build the mode in which I can jump and fly or I can listlessly stand there and dream of what the other side, holds, or if the bottom of the abyss, really feels as hellishly soft as everyone speaks of. I told my brother, my cerebral and most importantly, my hands that I am reveling in the idea of becoming a genius, a masterful delinquent, away from the needs of convention. I juggle life with success, I juggle death with life, I juggle love with hate, I juggle confusion with certainty and I sleep with each discourse, carrying me to the same cliff, everyday, standing, tied to the ground by, emotions, unseen. This is where I rest, the fatigued angel…


The Libertine