Brutal

Let me give you want you really want, the words you really will read but pretend that you never saw. Let me be more believable, more human with the ability to admit hurt, pain, anguish and reprieve. Let me swallow the absinthe as you tighten the ropes. Let me release again into the mist an offering to the Kracken. Pain all relate to... more so than hope, always it sears and brands and more line up for marking. Brutality is what wakes us like sweaty hands clinching our throat or violent shaking close to neck snapping. No one wants to write the truth and nothing but the truth. No one wants to stand on stage and admit to the jury of absurd watchers, idle guilty or not's who yawn and eye roll. No one wants to feel as if they stand in their pulpit and a verdict will remove the debauchery. I don't want to be Lady Godiva but she did get her point across, the kind of legend that only a woman riding nude on horseback can render. But I don't want to ride through the streets before you.. I don't want to be naked amid you again, all you nameless, and faceless pointing or with backs turned. We remain as always, strangers. I know I get a glance, we all do, but that is all that our soul's offering all our pledging, or plea will gain us. One meager glance then once again all that I was, all that happened to me was but a crumb that you devoured with no thanks like a rook of ravens pecking on the steps of a church after a wedding.