Breath

Cities breathe. We lie in the dark. We wait for the dawn, then toil on machines of oil and dust. At dusk, the new day is over. Dusty children play hopscotch in the soot and ash of yet another sunset. Our sun setting, the muted light filters gently through our selfish maze of exhaust and rebar. Stars vanish under the low, yellow hum of sodium. We lie still; waiting for ourselves to be made right by the progress of yet another gadget. The robots will save us, we proclaim. Yet, our rising sun will never break.

Upon a faint and distant dawn, the solemn bells of our forefathers, peel. It awakens some to another day washed in the incense of putrescence. Others lie in bed waiting for life to consume, them, us. We still light our ways with metal and ash. Their acids digest and seep and bother no one in our immediate future; until, skin melts. Our brown wastes stretching autumn leaves into summer. Out of sight out of mind. We can't know, refuse to think, what our ancestors would think of our machines of gloom.

One day our children will condemn us to our fate. Our scales always balanced in our sight. Yet, distance proves our eyes askew.

“But,” we say in unison, “we recycled.”

How fucking noble?

departure

I'm trying to put the words right.
I don't know if I can.

You have set my world alight.
I want you to understand.

Turmoil lies beneath a surface, calm.
As if I were a summer sea.

On roads our tires become a psalm.
They sing of you to me.

Yet of the dark,
in my heart past,
there is another tale.

Inside it's marked,
shattered glass,
from my sullen trail.

Sometimes it's the road that takes,
our smile from our lips.

When time is ours it's me you slake.
I wonder where it slips.

waiting...

A hand rests lightly on the bottom of the leather wrapped steering wheel. Reclined in a bucket seat, he sits waiting, sunglasses at night covering half-closed lids. The soft but persistent sound of rain, washes out the sounds of the city. He waits with the radio turned down, loud enough only to mark the passage of time. His cock, the only thing not torpid. It strains against the zipper of his jeans. Slowly and painfully his stiffening shaft bends sharply back upon it self. He reaches beneath his boxers and corrects his course.

Relaxed again, he half-dreams of the woman for whom he waits. His cock swells with every reminisce. Kissing the freckles on her back. The curve of her shoulder into neck. The smell of her pussy, moistening. The firm but gentle stroke of her hand on his tumescence. Her smile as they fall asleep.

A pair of bright red shoes appears on the stairs in the distance. Stalking clad legs appear with the next step. A red dress and then a soft face appear from the stairwell in the near-distance, with the next steps. He draws a breath sharply with recognition. He tenses slightly, at the sight of her. His cock, jerks up above the waist of his jeans, fully aroused.

His pulse speeds. Desire clouds his vision.

He draws a breath, then exhales slowly. He starts the car and pulls forward. A sly smile creeps upon his lips. He can smell her, already.

I, harbinger.

I am the pac-man of the soul,
I come hungry, ready... ready to devour,
I cannot be stopped by the mere mortals of shape,
I will not be doomed to stupid destiny of space,

I have found the reason to destroy,
I am not only the thought,
I have only action,
I, harbinger.


---
Written and emailed, as a response to this insane thing: http://www.hypnoid.com/psytest2.html

My Diagnosis:

You need to help others and to be thought of as a generous and kind individual. Often you are taken advantage of and regarded as simply part of the scenery. You work best when handling the work yourself; you do not appreciate a managerial role and tend to be uncomfortable in that position. Friendship is important to you, but it is generated on a personal basis, rarely a professional one. Consequently, family life is very important to you, and is often the most important aspect. Because of a strong sense of propriety however, you will sometimes consider the eccentric behavior of your friends and family as a personal affront. Often you find it difficult to speak up about personal anguish or pain, feeling instead that it is something an individual should bear in silence. Tradition is important to you, and you feel a sense of belonging when operating within the constraints of a predictable routine.