the thoughts in my mind bounce off of other thoughts in my mind like walking through a funhouse maze. just when ive got an issue resolved i turn to see another facet of myself that conflicts the issue i just spent half an hour resolving. women, my son, my existence, my mother, the guy whos mad a me for breaking all the pots on his porch, my father, my coke head sister, the landlady, my car, my sanity....but the first one...women...thats my downfall. whatever it is that they do, its the rightest thing ive ever seen. if its the right woman doing the right thing, im finished. not the obvious, not bending over, not crossing their legs, not anything the lust driven mind would imagine. the smallest of things is what kills me. when the right one reaches for her purse and the cuff of her shirt crawls up, she might as well be unveiling a lost picasso, a jewel hidden away for years. as the cuff climbs the few inches up her arm, its like watching the curtain open, and the first few notes of your favorite band starting. the pale underside of her wrist, the slight vein movement, the turning of the joints. these are just the surface of it. the fact that theres someone whos my age that has a purse is amazing, at the same time we were rolling over for the first time, being taken off the teet, riding bikes, kissing our first kisses, losing our first loves. and here i am, a child in a mans body, while all the whiles shes a woman, my lust for women has nothing to do with tits and ass, fucking or lust. its who she is even if she isnt. im a child in a mans body, she may just as well be the same. but then its even worse, her life is in her wrist as she reaches for her purse, her lipstick, to buckle the strap on her high heels, all of these trappings of the grown, the mature, the men and women. so she is covering her youth, her innocence, her embarresment at wearing an adult costume. so her wrist is all the better, the hand that once laid waste my soul as a woman, now kills me as the child she is. and thats just a wrist. so my mind wanders from my love of women to my supposed love filled relationship, that i have no love for. i wonder why i keep this front of a relationship going, not for sex anymore, i dont care to fuck her anymore, but my heart feels for her. it feels for her pain, for she is one of the children in womens clothing, playing dres up, playing life. and im what she uses to sound off her woes and hate of the world, her hate of man, her hate of the white man and everything we do in the world. fuck whores, ruin the wild, rape women, watch porn, basically deviate from all that is wholesome and pure. and all i want to do is see wristes. so what starts out with me seeing a wrist, from the right woman, do the right thing, becomes me stuck in a rut of though in regards to my ex, and my mother, and how would i have wanted someone to treat her, and how a woman, even a child playing woman, should be treated. so as i bounce off these walls of though im turned around to look back at the thoughts i though and have had to rearrange to fit my idea of what i think should be done. i cant anymore though, i dont care enough. i dont care about wrists, women, my mother , the world, i want it all erased, just to stop, to cease, to just go....but then...there would be no more wrists to watch. and i could never go without that