Blood &

Fire

I walk

a thin line

between

and

deception

delusion

My lies not quite lies, my half truths I

almost

start to believe myself.

I would do

How sad is that?

I have bound myself to this construct.

everything

differently.

I am a

prisoner

in this form.

I feel like running

like fighting my way out

I'm a blank slab

hoping some lonely artist will just so much as

spill

some paint on me.

a mistaken brush stroke

a

of paint

out of place.

drip

a blue print for some

lost masterpiece

never to be finished.

Anything

to define me.

But the truth is

we will

scream

and howl

and

shake

our cage…

but even if

the door

becomes

unlatched

we wont step

outside of it.

We have

grown to

our

bonds.

love

Some people revel in the cage... and we the wandererslove them

because wesecretly admire their

contentment.

we hope they are

willing to

venture into

but they never will.

uncharted territory

with us...

so we wait, & silently rage, & shake our cage

until the day,

if it ever comes,

we are able to step outside and

run.

I spent some of the best years of

my life

What is this guilt that has been taunting

my existence

since childhood?

Even when I had nothing to be guilty for, I

felt

apologizing.

remorse.

When I realized this,

I cultivated the ideal of

I think I'm starting to

living with no

regrets.

forget the

way.

So I stay, with this

fire

in my chest.

Trying to

dull

the flame

with the smoke

of tobacco & other herbs

with my

fast friend whiskey

with lustful

thoughts

of unknown lovers

And Yet tempting it by playing

on the edge of propriety.

The more I play on that edge

the more I enjoy the feeling.

The more that fire

makes me feel alive.

I hate myself

a little

for trying

to put it out.

I hate myself

more

for not being

able to.

I fear I will be filled with this wanderlust

forever.

I fear and

revel

in this secret of mine.

The one that will

kill me.

The shadow

that I will neverlet go of.

the realization

comes to me now

that perhaps if I stop my

artistic endeavors

the fire

will die.

If I stop recognizing

its existence

then I will finally

become a man

worthy

of

love.

not being worthy of love

is a fate I feel is worse

than death

however.

I feel the same

about becoming the man

I am suggesting

I become.

This conflict

is the origin

of the inscription

on my right wrist…

Nomad.

I have no place to lay my head

no peace

to be had.

So I make do with

what I have

and continue the

journey.

The question of

with wonder

and fear.

where it will take

me

fills me

The question of

where it will end…

I am consistently reminded

by this brand:

Nomad.

a man with no home

to wander forever

to tread the earth

without ceasing.

Partners in crime, tempting

the beast

within.

With Love & Admiration,

Serafin