I’m growing very tired of wanting. “the catch is never as good as the chase.” Someone told me this today and it really bothered me. If this it is true.. then the future holds nothing but a gradual decline of happiness. I’m exhausted, continuously chasing the foxes of desire. Burrowing somewhere underground, behind the drapes of trees… always out of reach lying just beyond a row of fallen, sleeping logs. Strapped with arrows and pocketing knives, I’m ready to trap the one that belongs to me. i want… i want… i want… i need. My skull sits atop a pedestal. Perched, on display beneath beams of light that illuminate floating dust particles like dancing fireflies. Tonight’s showing: A head-on collision. An urn sculpted prematurely by incessant urges. The wanting… the needing. It’s compulsive. And the show begins… The crank spins wildly of a tightening vice as the metal plates come closer. Speeding trains with no headlights on a path towards destruction. My head-on collision. I can feel the cold steel surfaces pressing against my jaw-clenched cheeks. Pushing. Smashing. Crushing. My teeth crack and tumble, like soldiers impaled with raining bows and toppling over the castle’s edge. Chipped, cracked, and shattered. The crank still spins. The walls compress further. My skull bones begin their defense straining to shield against the persistent crushing. Just as I feel a hint of resistance… and it seems the crank starts to slow… a breath escapes. The vice closes. The showroom lights go out. I don’t want to want anymore.
