Animal Instinct

I walked on hot tarmac, barefoot. The heat felt good beneath my skin. Even the thick soles of my feet, calloused and peeling, were insufficient to stem the penetration; the burn. I deserved it. Nothing less. You must always be one step ahead because otherwise, you are three steps behind. The pursuit of an elusive dream is born only from within the throes of a bout of momentary insanity. Wind pushes you back. Sun keeps you in the house. You drive along the road in your cool, closed car, oblivious to the tragedy unfolding around you. You open your mouth and your words are blasphemous. You close your eyes and your world is a nightmare. You sit surrounded by people and yet you are infinitely alone. Your heart is a closure, your mind a playground for the devil. Your life is measured in numbers and little words on paper that don't mean a thing, but mean everything. You are the lonely piece of debris floating in the midst of the ocean. You are the suffocating man drowning under the waves. Your hand is the pathetic, skinny one enshrouded and blocked by golden arms. Your clenched fist is a joke; your legs weak ducklings. You are the toad that hides under the damp rock, bloated neck. You are the old woman that is rocking in her chair, from the night until the morning. You are the folded piece of newspaper that people tramp on; blackened with footprints. You are not a work of art. Your hopes are pathetic, your aspirations profane. You walk the collapsing bridge. You are the child that is arrested, the stifled bud. You are a murderer; you have murdered yourself. Look through the murky waters of a pond and when your eyes become accustomed to the gloom and darkness, when all you see is sludge and shadows, know that that is you.