Benjamin Coyote: The Inebriated Fiend

You’d think that my endless journey could sustain such dreamlike fantasies. Yet, the truth is? That is never the case. Somewhere inside of me, some place deep within, I feel a pit. A Churning black liquid tar that eats up anything in its midst.  An emptiness that I cannot ever seem to fill. 

I would like to take a bath. I would like to clean my body of this filth. AH! A bath tub with no stopper? Shit! Don’t you fucking hate that? 

Still, no one can see through my front, the blockade that I have so unambiguously created. I am naïve, unknowing when it comes to deciphering my external expression, but I have it cased when analyzing the internal burnt mask that is sewn so tightly shut to the pores of my skin. 

For a brief moment my mind was diverted.  When you so graciously perverted and placed that crumpled bus ticket into my palm. 

“Here’s a present for you”. You said. I felt gone but alive.  

Listening to the howl in your words; I regret on how I acted on impulse in order to forget, to be felt, to feel. 

Never again but always again. I was Ingenuous. I am Fragile.