A Fighting Spirit

Author: Audacity

Sometimes, something viscous blooms in me.

And I become overcome with a birthing darkness of hatred that threatens to consume any and all light.

Something that even swallows the moon’s sun reflection of night.

Sometimes it’s lovely, warm desires to bless someone with a magical 🪄 shotgun blast to the head, just to gift them lovely feelings of permanent relaxation and tranquility. Helpful. Healthful. As I’m taken over by a string pulling desire in my head, to turn a different head into abstract wall art…as interpreted by the one and only artiste provocateur, Mr. 12 Gauge. I call this feeling “my artistic side”.

Sometimes it’s the blade 🔪 that calls. I can see my reflection inside it. Sometimes while looking at myself, I give the blade a kiss. Just to make sure it knows it’s always my favorite. Leave it lipstick stained, cause in this place, lips mark the spot. The spot that will quickly turn from shiny mirror to murky wine 🍷 , deeper than my lipstick crimson, but hold the clovers; as I hold the handle tight. The blade can alway make things feel right.

Sometimes, it’s the fire that calls to me. 🔥 it’s life’s great antiseptic. That wipes all bacterial life forms clean from the earth’s surface, and turns the landscape bald. As ashes float like gossamer moths. Melting candles screaming, but their waxy flesh will drip down all the same.

I fight these things. So far I’ve won more fights than I’ve lost. So far.

But sometimes I’m weary of fighting. Sometimes I think there’s nothing left to be fighting FOR. Even as I write this, the biggest plus in my column sleeps beside me. I rub her back and think “is this still enough for me to keep fighting it?”

Then my fucked up head says “we don’t like incarceration”…but my heart says “don’t be afraid to risk trying new places”

So this is a reminder to always follow your heart. ♥️