Seaswept

It's as though I've been writing in a subdued voice; all this time in dark hushed tones that are not my own.

I've made mistakes, we all have. Some mistakes though, are not the kind that incur a meager punishment in the form of a slap on the wrists but, rather, a lengthy incarceration; a lifelong sentence. Such is the fate of the select few in this spoiled lot.

It is a sordid affair, this life of ours; the choices we make. There are times, moments governed by desire, where all of the wisdom and all of the intellect in the world cannot shield you from sharp consequence's excising scalpel. A momentary lapse of control, a heedless surrender to engorged, heathenly habits; the pursuit of a heavenly asphyxiation, a winsome want of wantonness. A witness, to that surreptitious surrender, that mindless mutiny, lie always bound and choked, a captive in the darkened dungeons of duress. And after the deed is done, and done, and done, in shadow and sleep alights the beast's sweet succor. It grows stronger inside hardened hearts, pushing outward from within, like a kicking child in utero, leaving interior dents and outward bumps on once smooth flesh.

We are all helpless, all of us. Stranded slaves on seas of infinite, boundless desire. Jostled, pushed and pulled and, then, drowned, by dark waves crashing under a cratered moon.