S.O.C 1

Candle burning. Staring. Silence. I am. I think I am. I feel. I wish I was able to move. Able to stop. Then to begin. Wax melting slowly to the waters edge hardeing in shape controlled by the flows that don’t seem to make sense. Logic. Rational thought. I can think through anything and have the strength to start. Really? I am not controlled. No one is going to intervene. It is up to me to move. Rape. Violation of self. Cripple me and tear at the bleeding skin that is being torn from my body. Laugh. Pour the wax on my open wounds. No. Searching. Where are they? Where is she? Does it matter. Not any more. Success. Interesting what makes us happy. Fighting, laughing… just sitting. If I smile does it mean I am happy? If I cry does it mean I am sad? What does it mean to be in control of your emotions? Are women more in control because they cry more? Less about control, more about honesty. Not so sure. Happiness, Strength, Kindness, Creativity, Honesty, Benevolence, Arragance, Selfish, Hateful. Bitter? Not healthy. Look forward. Warmth, fingers intertwined. Embrace. Eyes looking deeply. Something else. Something Intangible. Unconditional. Look outside. Rain running slowly down the window forming a small pool seeping under the wood. The wood swells. The window won’t open. Why should it? Fire draws me near, stare at the open flame dancing. Red, Yellow, Orange never really touching the wood. Drawing Beauty, drawing Life. Sparks jumping, full of energy, hope, youth, optimism, laughing, singing.