Spinning

The list of jaded, temporary indulgent infatuations grows, seemingly without limit. Although I have vowed to love only to share... I find myself spiraling from man to man, vice to vice, sunset to sunrise, in the hopeless torrent of my early twenties. My hips drag me forward like magnets to the world, and all of my lower abdomen lunges forward without fear of repercussion. And all along, my heart remains locked up, in layers of steel and ice, numb from the world outside. I find myself dancing like some twisted midnight monarchy on late nights alone on the dance floor... All other boys with their cigarettes raised in crooked, glowing salutes to the red and flashing lights. A door creaks to the patio, closed. As as soon as I roll in, I roll out... and nothing has changed except for the degree of unrest, which has been numbed by the entourage of poisonous vices. And in the morning, I wake like a spinning top to an unwelcoming sun in a city that has already been bustling for hours, most days already finished. But my routine has only just begun... The rain only about to start as the sun boils the humid air like a hot soup broth. And soon enough, the spiraling has only spun so far out of control that the world again seems still, as if viewed through stable eyes in the eye of the hurricane. I desperately lunge for the gears, a lever to stop this spiraling, but I do not know if I am ready yet; it is all a blur. And one does not have to suffer from the details... which are the most excruciating of all.