J-4: Take Two – Imaginary Me, Here I Am

Pride, something I lack yet something I can obtain in times of absolute unknown fury. There’s a sign directing me, telling me that sanity lies around the corner. So I trek along, collecting the rage I never let out when it was pounding my insides. Here I am walking this road I know well, pacing back and forth familiar cracks as if change will come and fall in my hands. I grasp my bed sheets hard, watching my knuckles turn white while blood rushes away from hands and towards the rest of me. She’s that light, moaning under me, calling orders. I want the smell to last forever, the dampness under me to stick till next time, the marks imprinted on me to stay in the shape she left it in. Too busy admiring the way this body moves, how can I ever make her feel equal to that? I always want that feeling to not ever stop. But here I am, imaginary me, letting my voice go silently, clasping the thin air surrounding me, finding the hollow head standing in reason’s way, deafening my own ears, but still, I feel so far from it all. This is my line of thought. The one I asked for, the one I live with, and the one I don’t understand anymore. Now its thought turned rage looking for a cure, a remedy that last through several nights. I’m ready to swallow bottles whole, overdosing on the feeling inside of me and I’m not even a fan of medication, but she seems natural, or so I tell myself. Should I present the options, state the question, ask for further information? Or should I turn the page as if the story starts brand new every time we flip over? I feel sure of myself, more than ever in my life before and that feels good. I could write books about what this means for me, but I rather recite them through actions and love. Thus, imaginary me, should I push from the inside out and ask or suppress outwards in, starting this new page over?