I wanna crash my fingers on the keyboard and make it bleed. The poor authors and poets of old never knew the bliss of hate typing the fuck out of something. Angry letters to the editor with every period a fist into the desk. The next line ripping the enter key off its place on the right side. Fuck it, I’ve got another. I’ll actually use the number pad for once.
Cracking my neck. Left then right, just like the boxers do. Pound my fists together. Fingers out. Hit the qwerty, let’s go.
What kind of passion draws these emotions out? The burning scorched earth so deep you can smell it for miles. Wild fires look as if you’re walking through Hell’s gate and they’ve left the front door open. The valet will take your car. Bring your bags, you’re staying the night.
But it isn’t hate, is it?
No. Of course not.
Hate can fuel an explosion, but it can’t do what lust can do. Lust can melt steel.
Poets speak of a drive given to us by nature. One we cannot deny. It consumes us all at one time or another. It wets lips that were once dry.
Authors devote their entire existence to describing the beauty of lust. They talk of times they had it through people that never existed. These characters are all just parts of themselves walking through a life that never happened talking about an ache that was so god damn real. Lying with pretty words and spinning truths because we can’t just say it.
I’m not done. I’ll never be done. It will go on and on forever.
The burning will continue. The flames will lick the walls and suck in the air. Water will boil. Possessions will melt.
Don’t let me forget to thank you for lighting the match.
I’m a pacifist in every sense, but in this sense I’m speaking more to being non-argumentative then violence and war. I don’t like conflict. I don’t see the point in being mad at someone. I would rather enjoy myself and move past a disagreement or frustration then dwell on it and let it fester. I just want to have fun.
I get angry. I get mad. I have arguments with people where there is yelling and frustrations are thrown about. There isn’t often a time I hold onto them though. I give in. I let go. I will look at what caused the argument and concede a part of it that I’m responsible for even if the other person refuses to do so on their end. Again, I just want to have fun.
I can’t see why anyone would rather be mad and fume over something they can just let go. The need to be right and justified is so strong that they would ruin any hope of a good time simply to make sure they don’t seem weak. Because that’s all it is, they see compromise as weakness. Either every point of there’s is justified or they lose. They don’t like to lose and don’t want to lose.
So I’m left as the voice of reason. The adult. Ugh, I hate being the adult. I would rather grin and bear it than start up again to prove my point, no matter how valid I think my point is. It really wouldn’t matter anyways as when someone is so against losing they aren’t listening to your point, but waiting for their chance to argue back.
Of course there are times when I don’t concede. When fun isn’t an option and being right is imperative. The point of being a pacifist though is that you’re always looking for the path of least resistance. You’re always trying to be the bigger person. Your smile hurts but sometimes letting someone think they won is a better strategy then both of you ramming your head into a wall.