Are you listening? No. You're lost in a world of pinwheels and shiny sparkly recycled plastic toys. Daydreaming, nightdreaming, napdreaming. Sexdreaming? What a waste. You laugh at pain and whine at happiness. You have issues. Yes, issues. The mental, emotional, intellectual belching of bitchiness. I'd take you right here, but no, I can't listen to it. I won't feed it. You'll moan and you'll scream and you'll claw your way to orgasm, licking at lusty leisurely love, but this skinless bloody monster won't be welcomed to your castle, won't be smuggled through the trapdoor of your royal thoughts.
Distance, you'll scream. Distance and freedom and the right to reckless misfortune, but all you seek is loneliness. The battered cabin below deck, where the waters gather quickest and the drowned souls of a sentimental nostalgia whistle past your window. Loneliness, like black delphinium in a yellow sea of roses, beautiful and elegant in sunlight but twisted and brooding in the cloudy expanse of narrow vision. Loneliness, like a swelling barrel of piss swallowed from your tower of delusion. That's what you desire.
But take me anyway. Take me now. I refuse to act on a stage where your perceived omnipotence will coerce the nature and willingness of my performance. Direction is no longer yours. I will laugh at your trickery and enticing glances, will mock the whispers in my ear and rebuff the poetic advances. I will watch you retreat to your quarters, angry but grasping at the thrill of emptiness, or I shall marvel with delight as you emerge from behind that heavy curtain to dance upon my stage, to plead for my touch, to dispel the arrogant tendencies of divinity for the intimate nature of my company. I offer nothing more than the absence of loneliness. If that's what you desire, it's yours.
Reposted from long ago... 2007?