Hermetism

Wednesday, October 30, 2013 at 4:20 pm

sirenssong

It’s easy to make me the villain; I sure do a good job without even trying. I wonder about what is unseen. Does the thought of me sting the tongue; make you grind your teeth…  When is the score settled and the hidden revealed.

I’m so ashamed of all the things I’ve done in my sleep. Wicked sirens of love sing so sweetly that I think to be one until the deep swallows me.

Solitude is the way of the wise.  I have no desire for the outer world, only my garden and art – my monastery of daydreams.

Burden sticks to the skin, obligations of decorum swirl on the surface and then that song.  I’ve seen enough of the people in this world. I always serve my pound of flesh and yet it seems I’m always the thief lying about the under taste.  There’s no more mystery in sex, only dicks and pussies, it’s all rancid.

I’ll stay away.

Categories: Journal

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