I just want one goddamn hour to myself.
One that is tainted with the steady stream of mindfucks you place upon me.
A symbiotic, unmolested, happy, tranquil, understanding hour.
One without your voice and your laugh and your smile and your eyes and your pouted lips and the way your hand feels effortless within my own – and my own fucked up idealism – taking up all the space.
I just want a round of ticking seconds and minutes to pick up the pieces of my heart that are scattered around;
To realign the flickers of my drug-infested brain and my off-balanced nerves.
60 segments without the knot inside my stomach screaming for exhalation, freedom from your hostage.
I just want a fucking hour. If it must be daily, can I have that time?
Even prisoners get that much.
All I ask is a prisoner’s gift to aid the beating in my chest.
‘Cause I’ve noticed the reins being pulled tighter and tighter lately, and the doctor says there’s not a goddamn saddle to tame it.
So be at ease. Take a brief slumber from pushing and pulling at the emotional pendulum that is my own being.
Lay the shovel down from digging any deeper into my foundations, from manipulating the planted soil.
For if I was a farm, I’d be the salted earth variety, abandoned by the masses by the act of a few.
I am but a home built on the most maleable of concrete, once thought to be flexible, but instead you came by and wrenched it with a simple twist.
You do have quite the unrelenting hedonistic fist
….which goes well with my continually masochistic heart.
So today let’s shake it up.
Give me a lunch break. An hour to myself. A simple shadow on the sundial.
I’ll deal with my mind’s own troubles and the rambling’s of a sad madman;
while you can do whatever you’d like. You could even find some other fool to make your own.
I just ask you for simple break before you return to pillage what’s left of me.
Please. I beg you. Is it not obvious enough?
Haven’t you done enough with the other 23 hours…