.6 glue

i want it all.

i want it full.

not empty
or mostly there-
i want every single piece.
give me it all,
don't withold one drop.


i want it big.
i want it proud.
i want it deep
and thick
and opaque.
i want it staining.
i want it bold
and noticeable,
in fact
far beyond just 'noticeable'-
i want it never unnoticeable.

i want it always
and forevermore.
i never want a break
or a rest
or a pause.
i want it ongoing-

through day

and through night-

steadfast unchanging change.

i want this
and only this.
not dilluted
or perverted
contaminated with other
or alternative.
polluted with more
or less
or extra varieties,
no new gimics,
nor replacements
nor upgrades.
the original alpha.
untouched.
no digression attatched.

i want to find it.
seek it.
search high and low for it
in a constant chase
of frantic deperationism.
and yet have it from now
all at the same time.
looking and finding,
seeing and blinding,
trusting and knowing
and growing
and gripping
and reaching
and breathing
in
and out
on a journey which is the destination.

both.
simultaneously.
hand in hand.


i want it.
i really really want it.
and i want everything that comes with it,
not sparing a thing.
the stuff that must be endured
and lived through
to get to it.
that too.
i want it.
the stuff that if you told me now,
i wouldn't want to go through with it.
i'd turn back now.
i'd say no.
if you showed me, if i knew,
it would make me squirm and writhe and weep.
even that.
i want it.

i want the dark
as well as the light.
i want the pain
as well as the joy.
i want the loneliness
the separation
the guilt
the shame
and the sorrow.
i want the difficulty.
the confusion
the mistakes
and the disasters,
the reasonless
the meaningless
the unexplainable
unjustifiable
i
don't
know-ness.
the anger
and rage
and frustration
of powerlessness
or the endless waiting,
wondering,
watching,
when?
the fear
of imminency
and trepidation.
peacelessness.
storm.
rain, wind, and cold.
give me it all.


i want it, i want all of it.

because if i only want some of it
i can have none of it.


blessed are the broken, for they realise their need for the glue.