ArleneDunagan

A moment gives life Twists us to pain Grants us reward Redemption A moment strips us of dreams not yet had And sure enough we can all fall in collective defeat Resign our denial of the big answer over in return for a mass baptism Sedate entire lifetimes into retaining the dream of grey sanity Never sanctifying, but legalizing a union of marriage between you and a promise of your wallet and your dick or otherwise your tainted womb's shot legacy Look not at your mother Look not at the father of your brother Or the fathers of the others Moments may have spelled divinity But implemented more strenuous and forced sounds Moments that've escaped us may very well have signaled the end Or rather...perhaps they've retained a devout, faithful following A prophetic set of blueprints reading of your repetitious rebirths and ill-reputed incarnations (both completed and still pending?) If this rings true in any sense I do wonder if the process is of any resemblance to the nature and executions of a wind up watch in pursuit of eternity's elusive horizon Pushing onward in spite of the bloodied rest Let me ask myself more questions here, in this Entire pit of self absorption and guilt for potential narcissism This inwardly concave hole I dig into myself during this, my introspective graveyard shift But When my loud disparities went unresolved, A moment sat me down on my piano bench at 14 smoking weed from a can And there was nothing wrong with that then As a matter of fact, there was nothing wrong with anything then When I was my mother and my mother was a bully She flailed around in bitter opposition Seeming to have a Benjamin Button-esque style of mental and emotional progression Only further complicating my own attempted march onward, cause fuck the bloodied rest, right? Sprinkling detours and pit stops and breakdowns along my road She neither believed I was as real as any highway underfoot Nor did she believe I was as treaded on too Well, we'll call her a semi, she'd not rest till she carved the canyons of my adolescence with her wantonness and her weight And so, when my restless disparities went unresolved once more Ten million times more A moment casted me into a future like a worm stuck onto a hook Like a fiend stuck by the needle Tracked arms are shamefully aesthetic and a blatant expression of weakness So in this week of mine I'm the bait of the gods of bounty And they're out for fresh containments of artificial ways and cognitive dissonance I'm en route Piercing through the naked vulnerability of open air and praying it won't catch the water's downward drop of destiny In a school of piranhas Or in a barracuda's bay A moment I'd come to idealize as the "Symbolic exposition of a home-made, heart-made pulling" A pulling force unseen but regarded as fact; The ugly face of truth and her ugly, shrewd way of shuffling before you in a line of no end In a time of eternal urgency In one of the Gods' common ever-narrowing hallways Alternating between lighting the hopeless weed can And lighting and sucking tendrils of foul-tasting chemical smoke from a stinking old glass bottle Rigged with a straw and electric tape and a glass oil burner Cradling felonies To suffice for your toddler-aged addiction God, don't they grow up so fast? Have I yet regressed to a toddler's mind in my pursuit of nothingness? No I have, however, taken on the toddler's terrible trait of demanding instant gratification Downgrading and devaluing myself in the big river of dope, flooding a city near you soon And this may be wrong because it's wrong But smoking weed from a can wasn't wrong even if it HAD been wrong cause I didn't feel so doomed to be a player in the game And even if THAT wasn't my fault Things today are horrifically left at my fault And, well... At least I f**king know that.