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I Am Santo

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This magic green, a verdant swirl of calm inhaled when the lights dim and laughter dances, it spits me out a half-chewed relic of hypocritical belief and misplaced blame. Wrapped in its cloak of hazy reasoning, judgement slips and restricted tendencies lurking below practiced coloring within lines seize the soul and hands, a cure for inhibition and the freedom lips require to request and press for thick desires balled inside like tar, waiting to be melted by the hot intake of this slow burning liberation. It’s running away, an organic escape revered as a gift from terra firma and celebrated by higher minds than my own – closed off and damaged to the degree where mere mention of breath drawn by my esteemed traps me in an inside cabin hopelessly filling with seawater.

I strive for air, battle to keep my limbs from failing as I can feel the distance of reality shed like onion skin that replaces tears with wide, dumb smiles for those my heart holds dear. Yet common elixirs and acceptable decadence crowd my experience as passionate hobbies, and that crutch holds no resentment even as it has chewed through very fabric connecting kin that was burned by the supposedly loose morality sanctioning the glow of shared ember. Both are romanticized, but the rule of law mistakenly punishes this fecund rapture while permitting a constant celebration of abuse, rage, sloppiness and weakness that breaks souls instead of bending them to discover discover new angles at joy.

Is it the ecstasy sought that forces me to the corner? Is it somehow acceptable in this strange perception framed by culture’s traffic to embrace the fall but penalize the high?

I am sick with the congestion of charcoal thought clogging my path to brightened ways, envious of those that are not bound by this caustic wish that a world shared with me be enough to send spirits coasting, nothing else needed to shift heart and mind away from what I deem right and safe. Afraid, I force grins and nod appreciatively even as my organs grow heavy as stone and threaten to bust from this paper skin.

This pile of messy conclusions threatens to condemn my beloved with a coward’s rationale, so I sink deep and choke on clear air, suffocating under the grip of a history written in biased ink against slipping off the reigns of these challenging days and becoming welcome to internal suggestions that move cherished hearts in any direction but that which I can accept. Wrapped in black, I swallow light and disappear as a proven burden, shaken off and left to drown.

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