Self-exposing rant #1

Life in a box
of my own making
paranoia, boredom, apathy
(idle, perverse lust)

Can you understand?
of course you do.

I didn’t.

All you touch turns to gold
all I touch melts away in the slick, slow, thickly dripping
inevitable slide of shit

It’s still hard to accept
even after all this time.

Rejecting myself
is the only way to keep myself sane
(happy)
blissful on smooth, comforting, cool sheets
covering my scratchy, imperfect bed of nails

How do you transcend this?
I don’t understand.

You do. you’ve…..
….achieved a higher state of existence.

I don’t think I’ll ever be safe from myself
my own poison seeps in slowly
insiduously
you slow it
pause it
this cancerous progression

So I lock you into me
tightly
securely
along with all my other sacred possessions
(few in number, but preciados)

You, will not
not if I can help it
you won’t disintegrate, mingling with the black pool of excrement I’ve created
if I have to die (so be it)
if I have to be miserable (so be it)
if I must return to my small box (so be it)

You will forever remain perfect, unblemished, beautiful

My new box is slightly bigger
it has a peephole
sunlight streams through it.

Light now illuminates the cage
of my own making