The Beauty And Horror Of Truth Poem by deanna townsend

It slides like a hot knife thru butter, its bite quick and sharp,

releasing all the pent up pressure and allowing all that black

bubbling sludge to get out. The run of red shows brighter and purer as

the poison leaves thru the opening created. giving it less of a hold

on the conduit it resides in. there are only a few ways to release

this ugliness, this one seems to work the best. it is an indescribable

release and allows you to function one more day. the poison goes so

deap that there is no permanent solution, no permanent way to cleanse

your body, your soul of it, it is now a part of who you are. you feel

it creeping and crawling thru every part of you until you welcome the

burn of it, the sting that tells you that your still alive. It is

what allows you to continue doing what you have to do to exist in this

place that you have come to both love and hate. but if you allow it

to grow to much it consumes you like a slow burning fire that never is

completely extinguished it has so much to feed on so much fuel to

consume, added to every time you debase yourself for the privilege of

existing in this horrible thing they call life. it has never failed

to amaze me what the human body can adjust to. come to accept as

normal, i wonder sometimes what people would think if they ever took

the time to look under the surface to the chaos inside instead of just

seeing what is presented to the world. If they would stand next to you

so comfortably thinking they are safe and secure in there own little

world if they knew how easy it would be to slowly reach out and share

just a little of what is inside. how easy it would be to run the

poisonous blade thru there skin and give them just a taste of the burn

the hate that just grows and grows until you have to release it just a

little or you would implode. it is quite the symbiotic relationship as

it heals and grows while destroying everything that is considered good

inside of you. would they walk so confidently lashing out at what they

consider an inconvenience or bad if they realized how close they stood

to chaos and destruction, would they sleep so soundly if they knew how

anxious it is to creep in and render and tear that security away from

them. for now I am able to control it by releasing the pressure before

it escapes on its own, but oh how sweet it would be to allow it to

feed on someone else, to allow them to see what lies just below the

surface of what they perceive. would they have the strength to control

it as i have learned to do. to experience the burn and pain and not

let it lash out as lightening but to relieve the pressure before that

point with such ease that it almost doesn't hurt anymore. sometimes i

wonder how long i can keep doing this because i know that one day it

will be to much, one day i will be to late or go to far. than what

will happen will there be another to host and control or will it latch

on to someone who is weak someone who cries because of the pain and

folds when it hurts and doesn't stop, someone who breaks under the

pressure, what happens then. who teaches them what needs to be done

who shows them that in the scheme of things there really not that

important, who shows them how to shape and mold the pain into

something usefull. because if there is no one why should i continue

to control the urge to share. the urge to hurt and burn the urge to

destroy what so many consider precious. because in truth what they

consider precious is just a dream a fantasy of what they wish was

true.