twod

For years he told me what to do and I followed. Like he was the glove catching me when I flew. I never hit the ground. These years away from my father have brought me peace, though I am lonesome just as I was when he was around. Today he told me not to fight and I was once again weakened, although I can lift hundreds of pounds (I am a small giant). My father wants to control the world. To me the world is on drugs. Pleasure seeking, in absurd motions, as if Sisyphus loved pushing the rock because he thought he’d get a reward… but I think he’d be better off loving that fucking rock because it is all he has. The world is on drugs.

Minds are corrupt because mine’s not enough. I went to the base where they made me swear an oath and my father got pissed. All I want to do is serve. All I want to do is good. They all saw me cry because I showed them my tears. Bob said it makes you strong to cry which makes me want to kick his ass. I want to but I won’t. I am trying to calculate the cost of being in this world on drugs.

Looking for something in my sleep and not remembering where I went, the way your shadow moves without a body. In timid steps that erase themselves immediately my darkness advances. Coyly I approach myself and gently shift positions, my figure solid- a small statue on the shining countertop. My father never took drugs. He only drank and smoked and listened to music. He never understood the drugs, the drugs that the world is on. Neither do I… but try this; Inhale the closest smoke and send it to space, get underneath the cloud and look up, stand under your own projection, then it may come.