SATAN SAYS: living

I said I would renounce shallowness. I said I would stop caring about the surface, so I did, and I’ve watched it turn black. Slowly and surely all color has been sucked out. Now my skin resembles the trees, the outside is dry, cracked and constantly changed by the wind. I’m not seeing this through my eyes, I am feeling the surface from the living insides through the skin of my hands. They know how to read, how to penetrate and permeate all things, like a sixth sense. I am learning to feel through empathy. There is no reason to worry about paths that need to be made, my hands constantly show me the way. They direct me down my very own journey of miracles. Trent says, “Everyday is exactly the same," but my hands create chaos through creative change. I don’t grasp the instrument tightly, I don’t want to choke out nature’s secrets, I want to charm it, seduce it with my butterfly wings, so I’m developing a feather-like touch by lightly touching nothing to the delicate, barely there boundary that pretends to exist. Sure, I might lead when we dance in the sun, but it’s how it derives its own pleasure- it tastes divinely sweet like cherries.