Me.

The deepest reaches of my mind are filled with the libations of my darkest thoughts.
How can I be who I am? Can I remain sacrosanct?
Of course not, it was never meant to be.
Was I ever beyond the bowls of this inglorious existence?
Certainly I must have achieved some pedestrian level of influence on the body of my brothers and sisters.

I play it cool, like Mr. Blonde. I don’t care, but I do.
I’m heated ready to explode and I love everything.
I can’t be who I want to be, I get in my own way.
I yearn to be love plus nothing, but I continue to be me plus something.
I know I’m narcissistic, I realize I enjoy the sound of my own voice. But can’t I make a difference?
Won’t I bruise someone’s conscience?

My issue is not self loathing, it never has been.
The problem is I love myself too much. I can’t get past the Me and I can’t control the id in my soul.
Fly me away Superman. Perhaps this load is too heavy.
A shot to the belly and a bottle of scotch will cure all ills, but will I make a difference?
Will my dream to work to love endure? Or will Mr. Orange take me down to keep me from questioning those who question me?

It’s Wild E. and the Roadrunner, and I’m not sure who I am.
Today I feel like the road, unable to be part of the game and grind. Just a bystander, hoping my turns, hills and slopes will have an influence.
Today I am me.