Guilty Pleasure

"Here comes our guilty pleasure...."

Voices echo through my mind; what did we do last night? I nap yet dreams misplace my self into oblivious notions; I question my existence, logic, and identity.

I exit a lower Manhattan garage after a fight; I destroyed a motorcycle and masculinity of a shallow ego surfacing from stagnant sweat puddles. A moment prior I awoke to motion picture of a woman involving an act she desires with someone else; I am aware of her husband. Tears fall a mass of crumbling reality as the screen abruptly cracks color block blasts of ripping paper; must of been an important document. Other man multiplies into hundreds inside a cement block of moldy latex. A metallic jointed octopus squeezes me into submission; this world is a hallucinatory mechanism playing goody goody.

"He's just a baby!"

"He's food to me."

"A live one?!"

"That's how it should be."

"Where does he go when he is in your belly?"

"He becomes me....."

Legendary folklore of half truths to half deception is a woman enthralled by octopus love making; to swallow the children of their encounters is forbidden if one believes thus actually happens.

There are no apologies for any world, only resolutions and destruction.

Stumbling out of a sliding aluminum alloy door I fall into the street; a taxi greets me. Impeccable response I bleed the thought dripping from my left ear lobe.

"Hey guy what happened to the side of your face?"

"I have a headache...."

I am lost inside hypnotic spirals of arousal, an exit without return; joy of a spell. Leaving with kisses, embraces, and sweet narrow misses of wandering quests I fall into a yellow jacket's nest; a duet of compassion turns to love me.

"Please tell the man in the lavender suit I care for him deeply...."

Detest shades putrid green, brown, beige, and orange.

"You know what you did to him...."

Continuing soldiers head a march; witnesses of chaotic wishes attempt to ferment a cellar of fruitless contribution.

"I am without regret. I can only be what I am now which is a lesson in itself."

Their words console naiveness I am unfamiliar; being human is an accomplishment. Letting go of accomplishments will release limitations; this I know of wearing flesh.

"Please tell him my feelings for him transcend me. Somehow I know of him but I cannot complete the thought. I swim in a bowl with other fish searching for prawn."

Anger is yellowish tangerine moving into strips of static green electricity. Their reply is foreign; the emotion I understand completely.

I am inside the house unsure of which, there are many I see from projections thought to be me; thinking is overrated.

My fisted fingers bleed fourteen roses; the thorns I will eat.