, , , , , ,

I’ve hit my breaking point, I can’t take it any longer.  Living on the edge of existence in the jungle was pure  raw living at its best.  My life has grown stagnant to no end, I’m being mentally retarded by television.  I grow stupider every day, I can feel my strength fading along with my tan.  My life has gone easy to an extent I can not accept.  Im literally dying , suffocating like a fish out of water.

I feel guilty every day, I have a huge house, more food than I could ever eat, heat, hot water I’m living an upper middle class existence most don’t even know exists.  There is no challenge, no reason to live.  I meet available single girls every day, they throw themselves at me, I want to vomit, they are so empty and shallow.  The city is bitter, it’s cold and it’s half dead like a zombie.  I’ve created my own prison.  I miss Sookie like a long lost lover, it hurts in my heart. The air is toxic, I’m lost, I think I’m dying…

I am not a man,  I am a wild animal that is hungry for raw meat, the hunt, the chase, I am wild, trapped in a cage and it’s a dangerous place, this zoo.  Living on the threshold naked in the jungle my skin tingled, my eyes sharp, my thin muscled body strong, I was the top of the food chain, I take what I want when I want it.  I hunted the reef with no mask snorkel or fins, my eyes trained to see clear in the salt water I swam with the Sharks, they were my brothers.

My fists are like clubs, nicknamed Tom and Jerry they will always get me out of a scrape, they pull me up coconut trees and pry loose the fresh tender meat of the green nuts.  I am a hunter, a warrior, a scout and a chef… I am wild.

I can feel my life source draining from my soul, without the beach I have no strength, the edge is my home, the edge of the sea, the edge of the shore the edge of life.  There are no storms to fight, I just close the door.  There are no fires to light, I just flip a switch, there is no struggle and without struggle life ceases to exist.

In this safe simple life, my writing is shit, there is no story for tomorrow, no reason to live.  I don’t want safety.  I don’t want security. I don’t want any of this.  Am I the last of the Mohicans, are there no more wild children of the earth?  I need a new tribe, a water tribe.

Liked it? Take a second to support Stormy on Patreon!