sacrifice
it was not the simple thought i pretended it might be
there was no truncated moral
no three acts
no elegant metaphor
there never is except in the sapphire dusk of my imagination
i write stories to find my own
i lie constantly because the Mask intrigues me
because the truth demands a harder skin than i own at any one time
and so i peel at my own, tear it away
because i enjoy tricking myself
though it is also true that i crawl and tear my way there
and because if forced to rely upon a skeleton
and a number of years
and if made to be tied to many a habit and desire and law of nature
i will at least
at last
break a hole there
cut my hands open reaching
and if need be
bleed to death
to touch you and feel myself up against your beating heart
even if for only one night
About this entry
You’re currently reading “sacrifice,” an entry on house of nezua
- Published:
- 09.06.08 / 5pm
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