i'm alive and i don't know what to do about it

by Rachel Lynch in


there has been ample time to get to me. i need not special occasions and special possessions, my desires travel beyond the particular poison of the physical realm. I'm not victim to my momentary hungers, no slave to my wanton ways. So far, it has been necessary for me to assure them of my mischievous actions and it has been my goal to violate their rights. I've never wanted a reader or an onlooker just to sit there and take whats in front of them for what it is. I want people to question, to hate, to get angry, to love and to relate. If everything I did made you content in your complacency, well, then... i'm not doing my job.

Laying in bed with nothing but a yellow hair tie in, I'm coming to the conclusion that I'm in love with the world. I wish I could chose one thing, just one and have the strength to devote myself to it fully. Eagerly, I want to choose one and burn the rest from my mind as a pack into devotion.

Drawing in my notepad on these green carpeted floors, all four limbs gesturing softly to the sounds and the noises of my words on the page. The bedsheets are too crumpled for me to creep into. Flesh and blood, bones and gaps, I'm into crawling and being a vague muse of senseless devotion.