To speak of the future is to speak out of turn,
a sin so small that not even god himself might notice.
No man can look to the stars and see outright what will unfold.
A simple fact so hastily thrust upon the innocent that not even the concept of their
waning mortality can be held tenderly away from the ceaseless torment of its comedy.
I do not wish to live in this constant unbidden state of sorrow
nor I am sure that many would, for what is life if not to dream free of reality.
We rake and siphon this bitter muck from our brains as if searching
for some shred of feeble evidence prophesying better days to come.
Proving to no avail that the future exists as a paradise outside of all creation and not
our inevitable repulsing stampede to the liquor store
hot in suit of drowning whatever doubt remains.
I choose to live in this beautiful sin
because while my dreams of splendor have long faded into the waking nightmares of my encroaching reality
they have not yet failed to keep me from swaying in the gallows of my own mind.
A person dear to my heart once shared their favorite quote of a poet named Richard Sikens with me “The enormity of my desire disgusts me”(Richard Sikens).
I have thought often of the context in which this quote came to be shared
and the vice it now grips me with more days than not.
I took its meaning to be a reflection of our most primal treacherous instincts.
The kind of lustful greedy nature that is born through our inherently sinful existence.
Today as these words danced around my thoughts I began to doubt my initial interpretation.
My disgust was no longer engulfed in my fear of relapse,
that the little white lies that had once graced my nostrils
would one day find their way back to me
but rather that I had no further to go.
I could no longer speak of the future for I could no longer dream of better days.
My desire was now to once again live in beautiful sin
outside of reality
and the enormity of it disgusted me.