The Stool

The steps leading up to my wicked attic creak and crack beneath the weight of my transgression. My clandestine future stares back at me, unwilling to budge no matter how hard I push. Starring out of the attic window as rain drizzles, slowly soaking my heart with thoughts of you. Pounding and pounding in a rhythm matching the pitter patter of water hammering the glass. I look beyond the horizon into infinite space like my thoughts consuming every crevice of my soul. Then for a moment, I can't seem to put one sane ounce of ink to the screen. It's an instantaneous writers block, with a skid and slide as the air bags deploy burning the sides of my skull. It's as if I'm unworthy to enjoy a minuet sense of clarity. Sleep, ha.. Sleep is for the bears hibernating after filling their hulls with selfish amounts of nourishment brought on by an intense sense of self worth and ego. The ID fully content with a day's portion of personality and soul sucking. It's not the amount of money, your class, your race....it's you. When we all come freshly squeezed out of our mothers birthing canal we fight for every ounce of milk just as our ancestors before us did, some more than others with ignorance burned into their minds like a birth mark. We lay swaddled and warm with this monster growing deep inside, our brains unable to comprehend the true madness but it's there, bidding it's time like a cancer waiting for the right stimuli to bring its rearing head right out of our chest. Oh the stimuli we receive. Be number one, have the nicest things, find the most beautiful person to procreate as TV and radio burns these images into our very existence, we slowly transform into the most selfish mother fuckers. Consumed with fucking, eating,  killing, all for the sake of living life to the fullest. The stool I'm standing on to reach the highest window is starting to splinter, it too is reaching its limits, widening, adjusting until it can no longer take the circumstances it's been handed. Again I'm grounded but only for a moment, that is until the sides of my skull stop burning. 12:02, 12:02, tomorrow so much to do.