Maybe its gone. Maybe its over used, over hyped, over wanted. Over. As if an innocent bystander pregnant with over wrought meaning and increasing liability.
An uneasy laugh escapes. What do you need to do? believe? Believe in what? Ha. Doubt. Suspicion. Mixed with just the tiny suggestion of deceit. Spun strings in a kaleidoscope of...ugh... reasonable wants. Desires. Whose a tiny voice asks. Forceful suffocation. We will know only when the rest of them sing it together. Then we shall look fondly at the world at large and the spotlight that is too carefully, glaringly, suddenly focussed on you and pretend pride that I scoff at. A finger in each pie and you are happy oh so happy and you pretend. Bitter, bitter pretense.
Anger. Bulbous, screaming, shuddering anger. Slowly red to a steady, dead white. White hot coals. Always sounds so fascinating in print. Maybe its a loss of cocky swagger. Maybe its the final setting in of your surroundings. Maybe its a realisation of sorts of things that you have and do not have because of so and so. Maybe its a final anger directed towards the "unfairness" of it all. Ha. How neatly escapist.
Maybe I need out. Out of this, out of work, out of longing, out of impulsive fireballs. Need. Maybe I need to need. For a change.
***
Postscript: Vexation. Ha haha. Hahahaha. I wish I was Mojo Jojo. Atleast it'd be real.
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