It isn’t the voices, it is the things they whisper

Good morning.

How are you doing today? 

Ever see a grown man in a red sequined dress offering blow jobs for coupons for the nail salon?

Ever dance on the edge of the abyss with nothing but the beat of your own song to accompany the manic screams of the damned?

Have you watched a mother leave her child on the side of a dumpster because that was a better alternative to the drugs and abuse?

Have you ever seen a child look up at you with nothing but trust in their eyes and a smile of pure innocence?

When was the last time you stared into the eyes of another person and felt that magnetic pull that let you know you would gladly fall on a sword to keep them safe?

Ever glance at the clock and wish it would stop? Just stop. Freeze and let you catch your breath for one god damned minute?

Have you seen beauty in ugliness? Or found the ugly side of beauty? 

Ever tap dance in a minefield for the pleasure of feeling alive?

Some days I feel terribly self destructive. Like I want to wrap myself in a meat suit and swim with sharks. Skydive with a pack of bricks instead of a parachute.

If I could I would like to just travel and compliment strangers. Tell them they are sweet and awesome. Shake their hand and thank them for whatever the fuck they do. As a profession. Takes photos of them after and tell the world their story. 

Everyone has a story and deserves to have it told. 

Ugh. I feel optimistic and joyful. But the the thoughts stay right even with the gutter. I have found my voice and it is not one of sunshine and rainbows. Unless the rainbows are about to beat the shit out of the sunshine, form an oligarchy and nuke the whales. I want to tell a tale of heartbreaking purity and the joy of two souls finding solace in each other to weather the storm. 

But more than likely I will just say fuck too much and the plot twist will be that he was alone the entire time talking to his porcelain doll collection. That isn’t bad. 


Love you. Four more days.


9 thoughts on “It isn’t the voices, it is the things they whisper

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