Trapped

Profane words spat out from the very recesses of the tongue.

Though shall not kill, for the layman, the sex addict, the priest who likes kids, the rabbi who can’t help but launder money, through art of course - we are refined men at that.

What is there to say, G-d knows what happens in your bed, and yet you still masturbate, till it burns, till it goes limp, now isn’t that wonderful.

What’s wonderful is waking up at night, in a fit of terror, and rage, wondering what is real, and what is not. Questioning whether you have two right arms rather than one - that, is insanity my friend, the very definition of the word.

Then we wake up, or so we think. We go outside, and bask in the sun, only to find it is not there, we’ve woken up in a dessert filled with sand, but with no light to see for miles on end - we sink all the way down.

Surely the moon will come out, surely. Ah, but you see darkness follows light, a yin, and yang. Trapped, trapped in the in between, desperately, frantically trying to make it out, crawling up the walls to find the little cracks in the picture, holes in the landscape that never ends.

And then there was three, the sun the moon, and you. All suspended in time, all trying to figure out where you were supposed to be, not stuck in some paper cut out. Alas, no magic carpet flies by to pluck you from your misery. You die out here you know, yes, death exists here, you can be sure of that.

And then there was two. Two little mice fighting for the thrown, one with a hunchback, and one with a broken leg. Damn a broken leg, you limp feeble creature. They will worship you, when the time is right - they will worship you like dogs to their master, awaiting another treat, another bone, or die from starvation. So you throw it their way, and wait to be crowned king.