You’d give anything to get your life back on track but every time you reach toward it, it moves further and further away from you. The morning is a black slog. Hunger is perhaps a dramatization but the pain, the pain of it is real. Fingers shaking over the keys. Hands ready near the coffee pot. The stillness in the dark kitchen wraps around your tired body as it cools. It isn’t the day that destroys you it’s the way the minutes tick by slow and steady but never stop.
It’s before the alarm or after. It’s the clock beating out the seconds even after the machine guts inside of it have been removed. It’s crickets slicing their high-pitched sounds through the screened-in walls. Some anonymous lady on the internet says she isn’t afraid of dying because she believes in eternal life. You read that and do not laugh. You wonder what it must be like to believe in something so absurd and wish that maybe you could, even just for fun. Even just for a split second, to feel invincible and so sure of yourself.
But then she’s just some random circle face on the internet. But then we are all just random people hovering about out there in the universe, online or off, and the differences are becoming so extreme they are becoming the same and the noise gets into your blood and begins to shut your feelings down. The coffee hits your stomach and your stomach isn’t sure how to respond when it’s not empty. And when the emptiness fills you anyway, you think of him. How he filled you up so full you almost believed in everything he fed you because how could anything that tasted so good be killing you so badly.
Sometimes lies aren’t as false as they seem but maybe it depends who’s telling them. If it’s you or not you who receives. Sometimes when you are lonely you make yourself so small you could be a decimal point or the end of a sentence. In your mind, you are kneeling and he is gazing down at you. Dawn peels the lid back over a melon colored sky as the birds soar overhead from tree top to tree top. And the crickets continue right along with their piercing of the deafening silence. As though darkness or light doesn’t matter. As it all continues to matter and not matter.
Allison Marie Conway 
Intriguing piece that slowly unfolds within. The title at first seemed a bit misleading, however, as your words, sentences, thoughts, and expressions slowly dissolve inside the mind and then seep into the soul, a faint wave of introspection starts to take place. While the onslaught of realization lurks in the distance for a few moments, it suddenly ignites the avalanche of horror as one realizes that sex on the internet has evolved or perhaps devolved from carnal desires and lusts being temporarily satisfied to these days when sex on the internet stands for being blasted on by nearly infinite number of random people’s insane decisions and/or their subsequent demise. Are we really so bored and desensitized that instead actual so called original sex on the internet is either too boring or lacking any kind of excitement, we these days would rather spend time gasping and moaning over insanity that is the world right now… Anyway, I know my interpretation is a bit out there, however, it’s a very honest response that leaves me covered in cold sweat for it says a lot about how I am doing or am about these days. Crazy. 😳🙄😩❤️
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I am so eternally grateful for the way your mind works and that you trust my words enough to allow yourself to ponder them, let them bloom inside you, speak to you of deeper meanings. You are an absolute gift. Your interpretation is personal and yet also universal, which heartens me. I was hoping for such an experience within. The ‘virtual’ world and ‘real’ world, the blurring of lines and boundaries and pleasure and horror. The idea of the violence which underlies what is essentially a mutual masturbation landscape. Shock for sport. So much stimulation we go dead to it. To ourselves. ♥️ x
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“It isn’t the day that destroys you it’s the way the minutes tick by slow and steady but never stop” is the most accurate description for how I’ve been feeling. Thank you for sharing your inner world.
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I am so grateful to you for spending time with my words, thank you. For what it’s worth, I’m deeply touched this resonated with you. ♥️🙏🏻🌹
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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There is a quiet bleakness about this that chills.
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Sometimes when I write I feel like a bit of a haunted house. There are voices and it’s eerie and drafty and I want it all to touch me so I can tell its story. I worry the bleak gets lonely if I don’t visit with it. When you read my words and take time to leave your comments with their perfectly selected descriptions, it is a glitter of warmth I am so very grateful for. Thank you.🌹
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It is a joy to read you.
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A joy to be read by you. 🖤
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Sex on the internet takes our minds more, or less to carnal arousal… but arousal as many triggers, e.g., hate, fear, pain, anger, love etc., and the internet can be a loaded weapon… your piece oozes with multiple mind contemplating areas of arousal… sex…? hmmm… to each is own, as it is said… but the down time after the smorgasbord laid before us will determine… yet, I am willing to speculate, that it will not be the main thing on our minds, after absorbing what was written…
🇯🇲🏖
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Arousal has many triggers indeed… thank you so much for reading. 🙏🏻🕊🌹
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