5/10/09
"My name is Charles fucking Crown, and I can fucking write!" I screamed at myself.
I felt the words, never thinking of their intent, only knowing I was alive. Scenarios slash their way inside my dreaming mind. Everything becomes alone knowing that I'm just fine. I walk that straight and narrow line, until the very eternal end of time.
Security blanket blues make me slosh along the sidewalks, daydream ideas dash down my desires, igniting and fighting somewhat driving fires through and through. Poet suffering in a bed of pens and kneels, begging to be forgiven, seeking salvation in text. Alphabetical hypothetical absolution.
Delirium dances into the night, sweaty simpleton spinning round himself, artist in retreat from introspection and reflection as I flail about. Fade to black, the end, fin. Once again.
I caught up, got in, and was launched beyond all that is around me. I got here first, just in time to fly higher, soaring solitaire into the skyline. I laugh and cringe to watch the grinding gears of society crush each other into shape. The noise becomes a tune, shrieking sanity springing forth from their fears, praising dysfunction over deformity.
So I walk. And I see. Listen to them. Understand their dreams, their silent screams, see what they really mean. I know them all at once, when I was new and shiny, glistening innocent glory beaming from me. Afterbirth Jesus, Kung Fu Drifter, Word Conqueror. I am all these things and more.
I will die so you will know.
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