25 June 2012

Missing Piece

Missing-Piece

It’s a familiar sensation; the sticky charge before a thunder storm; the nagging feeling that something is missing. Some third arm or leg has been amputated. Some secret portion has been stolen, perhaps it’s my soul. I’m like a three legged dog, or a cart without wheels. I’m going nowhere; nowhere is where I am. I’m bleached out, fading away like an old photo left out in the sun. Something crawls inside my skin – electric crank bugs, dirty great cockroaches. I’m turning inside out; I’m pouring out onto barren ground, puddled on the floor like a pool of vomit. That missing piece must be my lynchpin because I’m losing my bearings and sliding off my axle. There is no steering this juggernaut, no turning back to safer ground. Blind on the inside; I’m a collision waiting. I’m a wrecking ball on course for destruction; I’m a derelict building awaiting its fall. I don’t believe in this, I don’t want it, but it’s too late – my pieces have scattered and I am undone again.

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3 comments:

  1. You are so interesting! I don't suppose I've truly read through something like that before. So wonderful to find another person with genuine feelings on this subject. Really.. thank you for starting this up. This blog is something that is needed, someone with a little originality

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    Replies
    1. Sycophantic spam swallower – you wouldn’t know a genuine thought if it bit your sorry arse. Really thank you for just fucking off. Your comment has something this blog does not need – a complete lack of originality.

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  2. A stroke of genius. It's like feeling your way in the human condition. The indefinite labor to be born in your giant essence out of this incompliance and incompleteness

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