All Of My Dregs In One Casket

Seth Monroe

For all of the time that I find to waste, I am amazed at how desolate a lost and found can be. Does everyone simply disregard the wheel? When it is my turn to be straightforward a linear system will rotate. When it is my turn to back track I will retrace my steps to walk a new path. The most serene discomfort is the breast milk for which I am mewling.

This is my grand declaration of indecisive certainty. All hope has been gang raped. Every quality that hope once had has been maliciously removed by those who know better. This is my movement and I act as such because remaining static makes my black t-shirt feel awkward and if it cannot get over its hang-ups, anxiety will send it to the cleaners. All of my cycles have been put through the wringer. I called it.

A string around my finger reminds me that circulation always comes back around. I try not to let it go to my head. I hold a breath or five just to have something to hold on to. I dismiss my seed in hopes that saturation reaches the earth at some point. Actions are boisterous and words just try to boast. A still life moves forward. A portrait of nasty, hasty comfort. Something has to stop sometimes. I will probably never see it though. My eyes have beheld more than enough beauty and that it is why I gouged them out...

...and would you look at that?! A photo finish that’s worth a few thousand words. Why cling to stillness when you can have the clarity of plastic wrap? Some people’s transparency isn’t as diaphanous until they have been enveloped. The big picture reveals how small and insignificant answers really are. A comprehensive look at the aggregate shows that it is malnourished. Life moves with or without you. Just look at what happened to the hare. Shell-shock comes on hard to those who remain oblivious and soften themselves before a journey down the Rabbit Hole.

With darkness fully realized it is my time to shine. The fires of chaos can scorch even the dampest of structures. This threadbare strand has roped me in for the last time. The tug of war has been lost. No time like the present to tap into some past tension. The future is so bright that I can hardly wait for night time. I am in my right mind because it is the only one in my head at the moment. This is my fluid, this is my purpose. Until I completely dry out there is not a worthless drop. The seeds of disease have been germinated and I am out of antibacterial soap. Sickness is the culture in which we find growth.

My negativity is the sum of what has added up. Odds and ends seem peculiar once they have concluded. I have finally accepted that I cannot finish something that never ends. Oroboros would be proud of me. I am justified by the means because I never stop. Sleep is unwelcome tranquility and once initiated it is almost masochistic. Pleasure lies in the pain of blissful slumber.

Should any of you receive this message, please put it in a bottle and get drunk. These words, to the letter, are for you because I already used them. This broadcast has a wide stroke and graciously swims through polluted waves. The tides have turned the other cheek and cheeky bastards they are. I have rolled over so that my grave can remain empty.