The Wheel
The blue in the sky is mine.
Weariness of the wheel. The constant ridding of dead flesh. The constant nurturing of new ideas. New ways to stay. Death mingels with birth and it turns again. Grinding magnificently. Churning the life I choose over and over again to a pulp. A river of filth. In whose murky depths I search for treassures I will never find. Blood and sweat saturates the ground upon which I walk. And now I must be a source. Give myself to the filth. To samsara. To the fantastic wheel. Give myself to a Plan without purpose. Without gratification. Only me. Only you. Will remain.
No greater love. No greater fear.
Fuck you. Never leave me.
The blue in the sky is mine.