The dried out wood cracks under my knuckles as I thump lightly, hoping nobody will answer.

But someone does.

An old man with frantically arranged white hair opens the door and says,”What have you come here for?”

“The truth.”

“The truth, which truth?”

“The one I believe.”, I say as I make a step forward.

“What you seek is what you will find, unless what you haven’t found is what you seek.”, he declares while closing the door.

I make the large and lonely arm chair in the left corner of the room my haven and begin:

“Given legs, I have walked. Given eyes, I have seen. Given a mind, I have thought. I have thought so much so that my world no longer belongs to me. In loss of control, I find myself asking questions. The questions are passed under the table. The answers are found in my envelopes of bribery. Envelopes that have passed through the blood covered fingers of the corrupt ingrained. The playing field has leveled, and my soul no longer runs through the fog. My tears flow upward into the sky all in hopes to defy. The truth is what I seek, so now old man, begin to speak.”

He strokes his beard and scrunches his wrinkled forehead, pouting his lips as if to say something.

He grabs his flask and shines sunlight onto it. Directing the reflection straight into my eyes he begins:

“You walk as if an artist, you see as if a poet, and you think as if a rebel. You have thought. Thought too much, my child. Your truth that you seek is everywhere you cannot find it. Every moment you spend searching, is another moment lost finding. It’s a matter of perspective, of realizing that what realization is is nothing but another input found in the outputs of your mind. Cease your journey and you shall no longer travel. Cease your doubt and you shall no longer question. The truth is what I speak, so now my child, begin to seek.”

He leans in toward my right ear and whispers softly, “Now, wake up.”

The sound of sheets rustling startles me, my breathing flows heavy and hollow.

I’m not insane if it’s in my brain.

If the search I do maintain, the truth I will obtain.

We are stagnant.

A stagnant addition of worthless deoxyribose scum.

Mmm, how delicious that does sound.

Cruel, diminishing, misunderstanding, impotently unintelligent relatives of the hair mammal.

Mmm, how true that does sound.

A glimmer of tertiary hope and despair, wrapped in a box of I don’t care.

Viscious female glares, and careless male flares.

Idignant polination, yielding instignation.

Mmm, how ill repented and kill stimpented that does sound.

All in hope that we are found, sitting in a pile of sweet cucumber’s mound.

She brushed her teeth, had a glass of water, and took her nightly dose of pills.

She laid down in her bed, folded the covers, and closed her eyes.

She didn’t dream, she didn’t think, she didn’t desire.

She woke, drank coffee, and got in the car.

She was robotic, she was lifeless, and she was carefree.

She sounds like me.

Staring at the faded lights in the darkness, the longer she stares, the more they seem to mesh.

A canvas of all black, through her eyes, splash of color travels through the seams at the condescending speed of light.

A bite of the bottom lip, boy this book is interesting, a shiny lighter makes its personality known.

A beat, a rythm, and a ciggarette is lit.

Menthol according to her high prefference.

Paintbrush in hand, her soul seeps through the paint much like blood through a vein.

The image of a door, light screaming through the crack, is this the place to be or is it just fantasy?

The clock moves its branches, swaying its hours to ambition.

Minutes fall like leaves of autumn, running away from the dull tick of electronical symphony.

Much to her desire, it was 3 in the morning, and insomnia made its usual prescence.

In attempting to create art, do we interpret an image from our brain mechanically skilled hands, or do our mechanical hands beautify the image already contained in our minds?

Why doesn’t anyone contradict the idea that 1+1 = 2? When a man and woman get married, they do not make two, they make one. When two elements are added together, they do not mix into two separate liquids, but into a single element. Primitivity, I fear you greatly.

Is writing the talent of arranging words together, or is it the arranging of words that makes it a talent?

All humans lust. All humans are sexual in nature. So must a naked woman be such an atrocity in this society? 

Does make-up make a woman beautiful, or does it just hide her true beauty?

Does a vein fill with blood, or does blood fill a vein?

Does nail polish dry in the wind, or does wind dry nail polish?

Does this, ever end?

I highly doubt it.