idiot seeks idiot for fun and possibly romance

i chose to write poetry today but i was tired and the poems arrived slowly like bruises. i ironed them into prose until i coughed.

my negativity is nothing but an unwelcomed clamor for attention. i bore myself to death. the heart of literature has turned cold for me these last few months. i am beginning to wish for an escape, the one thing i hated and reviled. there should be nothing to escape from.

there should be no need but there is always a need.

social strata require it; we are the enveloped mass, willing and salacious, undercutting emotion and depth for our blessed survival.

ha! survival! we are threatened by nothing and yet survival is the priority. it mocks our libidos with an angular, asinine pose and stalks the development of feeling until love is no more than a hollow cascade of self-praise.

concurrent thoughts glide, silken, alongside my finger is a dotted line of thought, a clear plotted path that i choose to ignore. this is a heuristic dwelling.

i wish for a lover, a lover for all times. my bed and heart and fridge are empty.

[silent persuasions appear here as a bracketed postscript.]


4 Responses to “idiot seeks idiot for fun and possibly romance”

  1. Holly Johnson Says:

    I enjoyed this entry very much. (I stumbled on it accidentally while doing a Google word search.) This was a very wistful sad piece of writing, but yet hopeful. Thank you for sharing it.

  2. Sorry – I forgot to say that the thing I liked the most that really made this entry unique was “[silent persuasions appear here as a bracketed postscript.]” :D

  3. “my bed and heart and fridge are empty”
    On nights like this, the one thing that gives me hope is I at least have control over how often I go to the grocery.

  4. Ah, this is just masterful. Literature is a surrogate intellectual lover in the absence of a real one.

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