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The Scents of Time

…the sunlight burns my skin.  This darkened room is bright with noise and smells.  I can catch the scent of ecstasy every time I lower my head to my pillow.  Even if I turn my head left and look right out the window, I no longer feel as though there is a world outside.  I’ve lost touch. 

Arrrrgh! I want to be touched!  My whole life I spent believing in Karma, the golden rule, all that shit.  Do on to others and what not.  I have helped old people cross the street.  I gave money to the poor.  And the crème’ de la crème’, I took a fucking chance on you. 

Oh, with your emerald eyes that cried long after the tears have dried.  Your fantastic hair and your mango smell.  I would just sit and try to sense what you would need next.  I was very proactive in all this.  Your only proactive stance was too leave me.

I’d call you a bitch but even the dog is still here.  I just wanted to be able to turn to you at any given time, and ask you to hand me the paper.  Or watch T.V., as I gently rubbed the back of your head.  Instead I torture myself on my hours off of work.  The golden rule being forgotten now, because I can’t do this onto others.  I’ll get fucking arrested.

So now as I sit in this darkened space, reading to the light of the fire that keeps raging.  I let my thoughts wander in to the caverns of my mind.  I let my situation define me.  I hate. It takes so much energy to hate.  Baby?  Do you hear me?  I’m tired from hating you.  Maybe if I work out, I’ll bring a new bitterness to my vinegar.  A new life to my rage.


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