Plays: Schizophrenic Tennis

Have you ever dreamt of a person you’ve never met, but you seem to know them so well?

It’s like a kiss which you can’t seem to forget, and a longing for which is like going through hell. You can smell them on your skin, as if your scent and theirs are one and the same. Two halves of a chance or a change of pace. Where mistakes are not in vain, nor erased but instead the lessons applied, and all of the lies that you’ve told yourself or the things you deny will not subside the reality. To which, the admittal of makes you sick, or feel uneasy … maybe even queasy. Have you ever?

I guess that’s too specific.

Regardless, I do not believe that’s unique to me (the invanity of humility). Though currently, my humanity is caught between a dream and reality. Realistically trying to approach something which I can’t even define. So instead I try to flow like fluid, but end up feeling stupid. As my ego or identity tries to conspire and aspire for control. It’s like dancing with two left feet … attempting to hold onto a rational insanity. Old habits are often hard to break, but as I replay the moments passed I realize those thoughtful things made no sense.

Nothing more than overprocessed abstractions without direction.

To find a rhythm, a melody, a purpose, or cause … because uncertainty in vulnerability is quite scary. Though it all seems like aimless words with a repetitive cadence. I am saying nothing, yet everything. Only making sense, to those who can feel through the ether or see the verbs. For there’s reflection in action. So why even try? If in fact, it’s going to be astract anyway … why not just wantonly dance, irrespective of circumstance or situation?

Because although my physical touch may be soft, and it’s be proven that I am no lover.

Another would be better. Life has made me hard, a good protector … a shield. So that is the role I’ll play. Is that an admission and acceptance of a role, or merely an unfolded insecurity and limitation of potential? It’s okay, I’m fine with it. Isn’t it ‘just’ to hold and take care of those we love? Or is that merely an excuse of the jaded and afraid? pfffttt, nigga pfft. I think it’s ‘D’ all of the above. Though, what’s with these antics? Why am I so frantic? The truth is on the tip of my tongue, but I have yet to swallow or even taste it. It’s cause yer a bitch.

Let alone digest it.

There’s something I’m not acknowledging. Where is this coming from? Maybe the sick feeling inside are butterflies caged within a space too small to spread their wings. Laying in the pit of my stomach as acid eats the bottom away. I can see yer pink panties. Yeah, this is definitely the product of fear from a man who’s fearless in every aspect except for one.

Love.

A fear which has permeated, and found it’s way into my casual relationships … since the presence of love has taken precedence across the board. We’re from the smack-a-hoe tribe. Though is this merely generic? I mean, I casually have been suggesting that people put me in my place, instead of letting me get away with things. That I want to be made aware of my offenses, because of my denseness, and detachment. I have no fear of being hurt physically nor emotionally. My fear lies in hurting others that I love. Smack a ho nigga, smack a ho. However, maybe this is about more than just a universal application.

Something in the making, situated for reception upon awakening …

or maybe it’s just the delusions of a man with too much time on his hands. While I can see the presence of the latter reality, the facts speak clearly … but I know that evidence means nothing, when the egos clash. I’m definitely over-thinking it. This is not innate. My brain is throbbing, echoing, reverbrating and leaving waves in it’s wake. Although I need to just kneel, anticipation is a bitch and I’m getting tired of that whore. My patience runs thin.

Just kneel son, just kneel.

My current hypocrisy is amusing. Fighting that which I know damn well I should not attempt to stop. Just kneel son, just kneel. Yet, my brain gets in the way. I cannot make the same mistakes of yesterday. Just kneel son, just kneel. Maybe that’s my problem, the fact that I rather not let it happen. Just kneel son, just kneel. When instead I should embrace our fate, with faith. Loving for love’s sake. JESUS CHRIST, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCKING …

*kneels*

- Prasand

Like a schizophrenic playing tennis with themself.
I’m highly amused.
“Accept the confrontation of our souls.”
“Love, and make love with the paradoxes.”