sweet destined end: a dream I can’t repair.
i’ve always been drawn to the terrible,
i take shit to the furthest possible
extreme, without a thought toward consequence,
embracing the paradox: dynamic
sweet strain between the pain and fantastic.
which goddess treads the path of fantastic
temptation to tear down (and then repair)
and still breathes; lives, inside this dynamic?
show her to me, glorious, terrible.
show me a frightful beauty consequence
can’t mar. if only it were possible!
resistance? just theory. impossible
and hypothetical. a fantastic
ruse dreamed up by a god of consequence
who punishes his children to repair
done damage. who settles each terrible
score with an arithmetic dynamic.
i try. i flat deny this dynamic,
denounce this god, decide it’s possible
that fearmongering has done terrible
permanent damage to my fantastic
potential; my faith that i can repair
my soul through pleasure sought in consequence.
this is perspective versus consequence.
reality is slick and dynamic.
a fluid is not worried with repair.
and why? because it is not possible
to harm what will not shatter fantastic;
will only flow. then, there’s no terrible.
if i am to be written terrible,
remembered always for the consequence
i wrought, then tell me: why such fantastic
lush packaging? why tempt the dynamic?
my hands agape with crave? all possible
restraint torn down in shreds of disrepair?
how terrible, your god. what dynamic
makes this tragic consequence possible?
breaks me fantastically? beyond repair?