A crystalline pain searing through my blood.
Is this just some chemical reaction loosed of a gland, or is the world about me turning, looking to crush me down?
I see red, I feel the dragon stir, vengeance, to WAR!
I stand on a balcony over-looking the city, and call council on myself by light of burnt tobacco.
All years of Buddhist teaching weigh in, and thank Christ!
Without it I would have been slain dead by the jackals many moons ago.
But oh! If only it were able to neutralise the hot blood that easy, wouldn’t life just be a breeze.
Instead demons swirl at night, come the wolf’s hour - ugly grotesques disguised and cloaked as thoughts.
Wish I could banish them and reach a peace in sleep but something sinister lives there too.
My god! Are we cursed? Are we damned?
Sometimes it feels to be that way.
Who hasn’t cried alone in the night, howled at the moon, tortured by some unseen, unknown. At once beyond our boundaries, yet somehow, without doubt, the Self.
And in a strange and tired way, I do take some joy from the mystery, because I know there is little I can do.
I should have died young and good looking, as in having the audacity to achieve survival, I am left feeling like a man caught in the strained grimace of a shit that will not budge again for all eternity.