Friday the 13th at 43

Feels exactly the way it looks. Creepy.

Being haunted by the threes is acceptably kinetic especially when you’re running from reality.

You can’t escape the war of life that wages on without ever holding you captive.

As I consider turning over a new leaf and as another page of my recordings flips to a new number — I am besotted by how far I’ve come and how little I’ve achieved.

More days than necessary — I hover over the articles that list all the glaring reasons why life can make love to you in a resounding way.

If only you let it.

I’ve always been in love with love and in awe of the notion that I could be loved in return.

I was born perfect but like you — I turned into various versions of imperfection.

Mistakes were made without me but I paid for them.

I made mistakes and others paid for those.

And then you take a chance or you gamble on a premise that you hope with all your might will work out.

But it doesn’t.

The days become labored and heavy with toiling and the nights empty and candidly overbearing.

There must be a way to breathe in the emancipation of the energy you laboriously seek but somehow eludes your best intentions.

There’s a break in the waves.

Ride slowly and remember to peak out every now and then in case the arch of your triumph begins to slide away.

It happens again.

The familiar light beams into the landscape you created with every inch of your being.

Those hands you used to pick and choose. The feet that walked and ran you to and fro under the changeable clouds. The mind of a restless warrior scheming with words and imagery in the darkness of comfort and defiance.

All of it screwed into harmonious empathy that resembles crumpled paper that is in the process of being ironed out again — so it looks the way it did before it was harassed.

Like the day you entered this world.

You were bare bottomed and smooth to the touch. Unrivaled and unaffected by the chaotic climate — promptly gathering to receive and deceive without reasons why.

Life is mega bitch. Life is also a twisted fantasy with a soundtrack that plays over and over in my head.

I can also assume that life is what I make of it.

If I truly want happiness — I should seek it. If I want success — the key is to open that door with the each turn signaling the hard work and perseverance that eventually leads the way.

If love is the answer then find it by being keenly available through the various options that provide more than enough assurance that you will end up with the person you give the most clicks to.

That’s just it.

I’ve been clicking through my life even before the delete button became a favorite sport.

Erasing and starting over and then beginning again — like a mad hatter rifling through the feathers of instances in the hopes of garnering that moment of substantial joy.

There is nothing like that.

Friday the 13th is a furiously gorgeous day to be mind-fucked to oblivion because I can’t control the pangs of disappointment and resentment that despite playing the game and following the rules — the tally isn’t in my favor.

But then I consider the righteous idea that maybe playing to win is really the bore of it all.

There is nothing to find and there’s nothing to conquer. Winners and losers constantly switch places until there is just one chair left.

When the music stops — so does my heart.

So, for now the dance continues and today it will be the surrender to a different tune that places all threes in unison.

It will be creepily fantastic.