i l l u m i n a t i n g
t h e p o s s i b i l i t y
i wrote this while dreaming, so sue me if it's too fast
There is nothing like breaking your own heart. Fear of failure combined with a lack of trust that I will ever be satisfied has reared the gorgon’s head once again. The ironic part is that I actually could have avoided it all if I wasn’t such a pussy. True love sometimes kills the imagination leaving one speechless. I have let myself, out of a desire to be dominated and consumed by love, forget the strategy for which it is played. I have over thought and conceptualized the sensuality so puissantly that it has left me dry and smelling of an aged woman. I sometimes wish I could have the freedom and sterility of a man, that the vestal responsibility that comes from soft curves and a male dominated history would fall from my cock in a provable pleasure cream dripping down your face. I wonder if it is really the heart that breaks, rather than the psyche. Like a mental submission to the societal insecurities strapped to my sex like a cerebral chastity belt. Fondled fodder is everywhere, but to possess ones heart is like taking on the responsibility of a conjoined twin. You want to kill it off sometimes, but understand that the shared organs would no sooner take your life as well.