Faustian Foxtrot
I push buttons.
I pull strings.
I build things up...
...and I break them down.
I am an artist and I'm learning that I feel in vivid colors, 
in hues of grandeur, and in such great volumes.That this is my nature and that I can direct these forces of myself more constructively.
The current seems to be gaining momentum,cutting a swath at my core, bleeding myself of this black fur,
of this coat of steel wool and hot tar. Like trying to thread a river through a sewing needle, I find myself picking at the burns of familiar darkness over the balance of building a warm fire. I'm the last ear to hear the death rattle of these old, sick animals, as if to pick from this carrion is the only way I know to nourish myself, still.
If I can truly allow the flame to welcome me home again and burn away the roots still planted in the soil of these self summoned sagaki, these haunts of wicked men, then I can plant such a crop in the ashes and more fully be present, to be taught by this light. 
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