deceptive were-nymphs

what’s your most coveted ritual? it’s a tough choice, especially when the environment is an amusement park of cues and responses. personally, exercise is the habit i spiral with on the laminate, pine-grained dance hall. without it’s daily check, i feel like i’m cheating (after pretending that i’m moral) which constantly leads to guilt over some fallen virtue. it’s a prescribed, observable sequence.

often the purpose lifts its blade. it’s there i see through your charade. i don’t accuse our human ways. who i’m talking to has no name. this is the void. impenetrable toy. try to get a voice. all it gives is white noise.

dependency extends so much further than our illegal substances and influencers. what would i be without a blanket at night? or daylight at noon? possibly, i’d drop into a meditational daze of living (highly improbable). more likely is the reality where i start to slip and fall — quitting is difficult. but just because we’re subject to weight doesn’t mean we need to ease the pressure. 

let the arpeggios run while i bask in a nun’s discernible gums. tell me your stories of youth and juvenile roots. were you born religious or did you just come to? where is a lost soul but beside your shoes, where secrets are hid in a box sealed with adhesive strips and hot, clear glue. upon further examination, i have to say it was underrated. family pictures and scraps of paper softened and degraded. you hold high expectations, but mine are in a conclave’s crypt. not to be harsh, but to free your shins from stepping on darts with bare feet pricked. i’ll scrape my bone and donate the liquid because i’m dehydrated in every single instance.

occasionally, it’s quite freeing to build and quickly dispense a storyline. it’s often said that beginnings are the best part — honeymoon years. as the story grows, what percentage of us crave an end? for all our life, terminations and evacuations have been forced on us for social development. but as i sit here filing through my hobbies (if you think i’m bragging, you should read more of these), many of them contain extravagant finishes. it could be classical, modern, philosophical, artistic, or amateur, but the final hoorah is there like the legal print within the first pages of every published goodie.

my neck cranes as i long for novocain. i’m depressed to inform you it’s not to curb the silence, but to experience it. what’s the difference between unconsciousness and sleep?

while you skip over answering that, i’ll mention that i came up with that contrasting identification to be the state before the passivity. sleep is (yet another) burden of proof stapled to my lapel, but a blackout, whatever it is in the moment, is an extraordinarily rapid fade-out. lying down to rest is a straight jacket binding the ripples of muscle (gotcha – actual subject: thought) flat.

really, the act of calm is not practiced in this parish. we sing psalms and justify the government barracks, but, my dear watson, we call to arms too.

sent to attack the intercom; achieve barren ash without the flash of a musty match; slow-burn these physically impaired stints and mentally deceptive were-nymphs.

– D K T

Published by dktindepth

Passionate writer. Avid reader. Music obsessor. Spiritual student.

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