Musings In B Minor

SWORD & PEN

With this sword in hand, I cut myself

I bleed my soul out for those who cannot see

On fibrous rags, I lay bare the seeds of what grows inside me

And if I cry to walk away my alcalde proposes to make me pay

For, how is it possible to stall the treasures indefectible minds manducate

Must I be chained to this insatiable rapacity for the meat grown deep in my core

Must I live imprisoned merely for the purpose of spilling my blood daily until I run dry

Must I reach into the depths of the inner workings of my mind plucking its piquant fruit from inside

Who are you to decide my fate

Destiny holds the claim to the real estate of my consciousness and existence

But of course, she again is running late in her efforts to assist in my elevation

Instead, she leaves me here in a static state

Unwilling to change the terms of her mandate

Content to allow them to feast on my flesh

Until I am no more

I bleed onto those rags, and I continue to bleed

Not because I have to but because of my own addiction

Waiting patiently for the response

My eyes scan for their reproof  

As a new fictitious dalliance is alloted to all

Watching as the numbers grow

My love affair with the sword reaches a high

Unimaginable thirst pools in me until it is quenched in time

No longer satisfied with merely trickling sensuality out to the blind

I seek a vigorous release of instinctual thoughts and impudent actions

Why should I care for the beliefs of others when I am the fulfillment of myself

I am the essence of the incorporeal infusions imbued at the tips of my fingers

My mind creates, destroys, and re-creates the elements my sword sets free

Without me, there is no blood

There is nothing

There is no one

I am what I am

I make no excuse for my craft

I am the essence of myself

I share me because I find joy

A joy that can only be fulfilled

When my pen spills my soul for those who are willing to see.