Everybody wants to be oppressed.
After all, only pressure makes pearls.
We await the hot iron to melt us into finality-
to tear us apart so that we might find our true purpose,
and seize it, and form the instrument of our wildest dreams.
We await the branding, the emblazoning, when our true fiery spirits might
rise from their luxurious slumbers and assume their position as deity.
I feel it too.
That moment when, grasped by the unfathomable,
all you long for is a future forged in tongues of lapping flame,
a fate that does not ‘befall’ but is taken and assumes its place
as your servant, bent to your will.
If only there was something there to take.
If only our world wasn’t a plush grave, made to please,
if only society would stop its groveling at my feet
I might could overthrow it.
All I want is to bleed until I am empty
but I am gorged with pleasure,
the kind that never ends, is never satisfied.
I am a lone wolf in a dark wood whose howls are silenced by the vacuum
of apathetic space around it,
but I will not stop.
I will scream and scream my willful soliloquy-
if only anyone could hear me.
If only the world would hate me.