|the wrath of god|
i am a vessel for words to hide in. i am ears to soak in all your stories, a bed for your tired soul to rest. where does my body go off to when i take yours in for the night, i wonder?
my eyes were closed not two seconds ago, and i was in your arms. i wish i had never opened them. you barely spoke to me, like i was the one imposing on your dream world, my existence too intricate or real for your brain to have created me. you hate how real i am, how much i yearn to feel and create and devour. it repulses you that i have even the capacity to desire you, to desire desire, that unending spiral of unfulfillment
a true love is there somewhere and i am excited for it and i think about it all the time and i desire it and i fantasize about it and i fill my dreams up with it and i want it now
In my dark hours, I have the certain feeling that everything outside this one thing has no meaning. The complex and many-faceted only confuses me, and I must search for unity. What is it, this one thing, and how do I find my way to it? Traces of this perfect thing appear in many guises - and everything that is unimportant falls away.