a sarcastic drama written impromptu with a friend
A stream of thoughts stitched together from two writers college kids. A collaborative piece with “lajahkaya” who starts and ends it. (this is not a dialogue)
They say your pupils dilate when you are in love. But so can darkness. I choose darkness.
What is there to love when the darkness gives me everything. A poor substitute for a disillusioned man’s cries to the wind. Everything is a lie. Love is a lie. We are all slaves.
If so, if love and everything is a lie, then we all live in darkness. We do not see, not a yocto of lux is present, yet we judge things by what we feel. No wonder people are messed up, everything they’ve done from the beginning up to now is to judge, define, know, and decide by feeling… all slaves of a hedonistic cause.
What is love if not for lust? Or should I stop beginning my questions with Whats because my light bulbs have burned out?
Bulbs, lamps, suns, and everything that gives out light or what is defined to be light are meaningless, for it diminishes the value of trust. In darkness you learn to trust. My hands are not much, but I tell you that they and I are of your own. Hold them in the darkness and you might see with them.
Reach out for my eyes and pull my hair so that I fall back into your orbit. Step on my toes and offend me so I try to move away. In moving away I feel your gravity. The slightest hint of another being in the darkness with me is all I hope to see in waking. Cut this silence with broken echoes of a sound I can mistake to be my name.
I shall pull out your eyes and I’ll let you pull out mine as well, for these pair of spheres had its purpose defeated. As for your hair, I shall let it be, for I cannot risk another second that my hands are away from yours. All I need is for you to hold my hands and allow me to pull you closer for me to bask in the warmth of your existence… and closer we shall be hoping enthalpy won’t best us.
I do not love nor do I lie. Our endings turn out the same way, for our lives are spaghetti strings sitting on God’s plate, and in the end we bask in the warmth of God’s tongue and skid down His glorious Esophagus. And in the end we find that we are nothing, for God is nonexistent. I say this because I see everything which is nothing. So take my words and throw them out so they take shape in the playful hands of the wind.
However which way… we all become excrement, either of life or of that supernatural nonexistent being. Yet after all these truths, I choose to hold on to you… for in you there is me… as a narcissist everything about me, I love.