Portraits Of Past The Control Freak
Into the retrofit past – turn the corner. The voice in my
head barks its selfless orders and the nylon leash gets a
little shorter and I wonder who the invisible bondsman
is. Over shoulder, checking to see if anyone is watching,
waiting for the struggle that won’t come. Against the
bonds of what I cannot do, what I cannot shows, what I
cannot lose. And I know that I will remain shut in,
because the metal door is locked from the inside. Its
just me and myself against the world. Its just a flat out
refusal. And so my superiority and privilege lies dashed
to pieces on the cold, stone floor, mixed with the
horrific runoff from what is no longer my freedom my
violence my laziness my f..cked freedom mine. That freedom
which so many love. The freedom I choose to pursue no
more. And I see how perverse that freedom is. The fists
and blood money stay in my hip pockets. And I show that
my hands aren’t inherently violent. And I realize how
beautiful these Chinese handcuffs are.
