The Thought

I am filled with a rapidly expanding thought, which I cannot control. I have the cognitive and emotional intelligence to understand that this thought is taking over me day by day, hour by hour. I am living with it, but I… I fear that soon it will be me and I… it. It is massive. It is huge. It is beyond me and it has control of me.

It is the first thing that bubbles up through the layers of my mind’s early morning consciousness. It is the last thing I think about before sleep. It haunts my dreams. It is fear, but it is pleasure. It is driving me insane.

I am becoming addicted to it as it permeates with unseen tentacles. I need it every day more and more and more. I have tried to cut it—hack at it—but, I must be frank, my attempts have been feeble. Like the feebleness of a hand on a scorching summer day batting away a fly; like the feebleness of a starving child’s play.

Very feeble indeed.

Have I tried to escape it? Yes, in poetry, but I only sing its praises. How can I hate something I love? How can I remove something that I cannot find? It is me. I’m tired of hating me.

Every day I fly in my pool. I stretch my arms pummeling the water until they burn. It helps, the burning helps keep the thought at bay. Every night I fly on the concrete, till my legs are on fire. It helps, the burning keeps the thought at bay.

My thought is desire. I am becoming desire. I am desire.