My greatest affirmation is those. The throngs, as it were. I cannot explain my jealousy. But it is overwhelming and burning. The same fire that forges real will. Will I can never have. I am totally aware of all this. And I remain jealous.
The exaggerated thinness of their frames. Why, each internal scream begs, can’t I find myself among them?
Oh , let me be away from them and their bodies. If only they could disappear, or be struck with some humile ugliness. But no. My entire crisis is with their universal saturation of my life and vision. I am haunted by these demons of the gorgeous. What am I left to do but run away, seeing is that I cannot fight.
The shape is the totality of my lust. How can someone appreciate the art of shape so much – or is it geometric? Is my downfall based in the sciences at all? Or am I abnormal. I don’t want to be abnormal.
All I wanted to do was win. I know I am lying to myself when I talk of escape. To what sexless place could I retreat? There is none to say I can go and be cured, distracted, or treated in the least – my whole pursuit is a pipe dream, weak and feeble. The whole ill sought errand is so much a fools journey.
What’s worse is the simplicity of my desire. To slide into them – such an easy motion, to have spent devastated months on end arranging. To understand and know their warmth. To be able to say, of them, that they are sensitive to this or that. To bite them at the height of passion, to feel their arms pull me into them. Hot breath on my neck. Those.
They are a headache and disease – pervading my life with distraction. Their angle hateful. Their entire balance, war.
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