Asphyxiation Fetish

Sometimes I see myself out of breath. Permanently…out of breath. Slumped over the steering wheel of a rusty Cadillac on the side of some busy street. Sometimes I drive to the side of some busy street and slump myself over the steering wheel of the car and wait to see how long it might have taken someone to notice him. Sometimes, I miss him so terribly that I can’t trust anyone enough to share my thoughts about it because life has taught me that people want to be better than they actually are. People seem healthier than they actually are. People want to love you more than they actually do. But in the end, everything dies. Commitment dies. Honor dies. Loyalty dies. Dreams die. People die. Love dies. Even the purest of love, love that feels like it was created to save you and will last forever…dies. And still standing, after the carnage and death of every other facet of existence, are only two things: God…and pain…the only two immortals. And sometimes this realization sends me to bed crying. But, unable to sleep as crying turns to heaving and heaving erupts into choking and choking explodes into hyperventilating and sometimes I want to be out of breath. Permanently…out of breath. Sometimes I’ll feel better in the morning. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes the sunlight doesn’t cloak the darkness as well. Sometimes the eloquent professions of love don’t veil the oncoming pain in the distance as well with the usual luminescent glittery colors of happiness and denial. Sometimes the holodeck breaks down. Sometimes there’s a glitch in the matrix. Sometimes I find a pair of glasses that allow me to see the ghosts that haunt me. Sometimes the “but” is so painfully present in the “I love you” that even if it’s not finally revealed and spoken into the years later, the anticipation of it is so maddening that it corrodes the very fabric of my faith in life until reality becomes undecipherable, and insanity prevails. Sometimes…sometimes the illusions fades just enough for me to make out the demons that wait for me just beyond the illusion’s threshold. Sometimes, when I realize this, I gasp. And sometimes I forget to exhale…for so long that the prickly tingle of my soul’s asphyxiation becomes exciting and I forget that I’m supposed to be scared of what it leads to. Sometimes I find peace in being out of breath. Permanently…out of breath. Sometimes “forever” is unbearable. Sometimes “for the rest of my life” is suffocating. Sometimes I wonder if the severed-limb horse that is about to be put down is afraid of being put out of its misery because of the natural apprehension we have to the finality of death or if it ever stares into the dark tunnels of the barrels before it thinking…”thank you.” Sometimes I imagine I find a strange, cryptic smile on that horse’s face as his body is buried and I wonder if it secretly broke its leg on purpose in some premeditated, masterminded plot to outwit fate. Sometimes I envy that horse because fate has managed to convince my human mind that I cannot outsmart it. So I sit and take every blow, waiting for “forever” to die. Waiting for loyalty to die. Waiting for commitment to die. Waiting for love to die. Waiting for the “but” to jump out from the shadows behind “I love you” and scare me one final time. And sometimes I imagine you finding this poem after you have convinced me that our love is real and that I should take the red pill we are living happily every after and then you discover how close I came to losing me. And sometimes I imagine that you never find this poem and that you never know that I felt this way because you were never a part of my life long enough to find any of my secret chambers or my hidden doors and seal them shut for me. Because commitment dies. Because everything dies. And I’m left trying to ask respectfully worded questions to God, while pain embraces me so forcefully that I can’t breathe enough to get the questions out, so I sit waiting for the credits to roll on for the rest of my life so that I could finally stare into that dark tunnel and smile that cryptic smile and whisper that secret “thank you.” Sometimes I want to go shake my father and wake him up off of that steering wheel and ask him how he did it…and ask him how pissed off was fate that he outsmarted it? But I’m afraid that his answer will be: “Hush boy! Stop that talking! This is not a secure line. Fate…is listening.” And I’ll realize that he didn’t do it. And I’ll realize how clever fate is. And as I’m pondering this, I’ll look up and see my father driving away in that rusty Cadillac and I know what is to come so I…I chase him. And sometimes it actually feels like I may catch up with him and tell him not to go or beg him to take me with him or just hold him...one last time. But I…I never catch up. And I never stopped chasing him. And I never stopped chasing commitment. And I never stopped chasing loyalty. And I never stopped chasing forever. And I NEVER…stopped chasing love. And that is how clever fate is. And sometimes I feel like I could chase them with unyielding energy and fire and strength until my persistence and determination of it becomes such an inspiration to children and fans and souls all over the world that they have joined me in this magnificently feudal chase across the uncharted trails of “for the rest of my life” and “we make history” but sometimes I feel like stopping. Full-bearded, frail-framed, covered with dirt and blood and sweat and tears, weary and turning around to face the masses running behind me with a look on my face of the dog who suddenly stops chasing his tail when cruel realization strikes him. Sometimes I feel like stopping and turning to those followers and telling them…in a tone…of defeat: “I don’t want to run no more.” Sometimes I feel like I could run forever…chase forever. And I will tell you to chase forever and I know that in reality I’m strong and I will…I will chase forever. But…but sometimes…I feel out of breath.

To Every Girl (Part II)

Dear World,

            It’s been me against you in this fight for the crown. But now I’m weary from you knocking me down. Good round. Perhaps next time around if I ever get that chance I will be the champ. But for now… I’m throwing in the towel…because the crowd was not what I anticipated. No one related to what I created in my soul…dissipated. Perhaps I was never fit to make it. Still a child…yet I’ve walked so many miles and tried to keep plenty smiles and still feel like the golden child. I followed your rules. What am I doing wrong? Thought I’d write a poem to bring laughter and tears…but all it brought was girls who thought I was weird. For years I’d hear you laugh and snicker. Fear made me mad and bitter. Women have this uncanny ability to know just where to stab and hit ya. You ripped my soul out of my life…my life out of my heart…my heart out of my chest…and now I’m afraid there’s nothing left. I guess genius is only fully acknowledged after death. So now I’m on some Curt Cobain madness. I was never blessed with a woman who could handle my passionate thrills, my blasphemous ills, my immaculate skills. Ying and Yang…Duality of my brain…Pleasure and pain…Just when I thought I found her…it rained. And she rode the last train. So that’s it. My story ends. No more ink in pen. No more thinking women can be trusted with demons within. As I sit with bloody, crimson wrists. Just say I’ll be missed. And remember my last words…I dedicate this:

TO EVERY GIRL…I’VE EVER KNOWN…THAT’S EVER DISSED ME…THAT WILL NEVER GET ME NOW…

I bet you’ll miss me now…………………..