In the Orbital of Sadness

He woke up with one eye satisfied at the vision of the girl that lay with him. He closes his eyes again to plan the tune of the tenor of a free day with his girlfriend. He has a tab of the LA map, history of restaurants, and interests of activities meshing through the web of his frontal cortex. The sponge of its platform goes to work all to think that his heart is sending a different signal.

He shouldn’t be living with her but he is. They shouldn’t be sleeping on the same bed but they are.  It’s a game. And the shot clock frightens any trust that he’ll be able to find true love. The times have changed and the culture to love abides by the wide road of lust.

Imprisoned with a key in his mouth, he’s unable to unlatch the Siamese orbitals on his wrists. He inserts the key but it’s rotation 90 degrees east will leave him chipping his teeth and bleeding from his gums. His teeth are recovering from the bitter stalemate of reformed metal that can’t turn fully to let him go. Yet, he likes that he feels constrained.

So the day goes, charming his girl to the sights and sounds of LA. And as the lights go out, he wishes upon the star that he’d be able to follow the whispers of a dear voice. He wishes for the stars to come out so that he can come out of hiding. But for now, the battlement keeps him franchised to his fantasies, and without form of family.

He’s left scratching and resting in his addiction to feel pleasure. If she’s dissatisfied at any point, she’ll unlock his wrists and let him go. He’ll feel pain and liberation but he’ll want that feeling again while wishing for the spectacles of healing stars. He’ll continue to dress her curves and flaunt her appeal for the celebration of what’s temporarily his in those moments.

He’ll get what he wants but without the true reconnaissance of a break in the shatter of remnants already present. His feet are ready to bleed and his hands ready to sacrifice to step on his ugly self reflected on jagged edges. His dreams take him back to that seat where he’s crying out for true joy. But he’s warped in an episode that decides what’s best for him and he’s remotely caved in to the seat that takes his shape each night as he falls into the trance of sadness.

He cries. He sleeps. He wakes.


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