Dumbing the Inner-Mind Down for Pleasure

I was born for dancing, and not the kind we do with our bodies,
But the kind we do once we break out of this cycle.

Live well and long.

Help and build.

Swallow pain and despair.

Accept life and be.

Everyone gets ahead of themselves now and then.
No, but everyone gets overwhelmed, some die prematurely, and we regret.

What am I living for?
And what do I want to have?

Wouldn't it be more important to think about a better tomorrow?
To have one's affairs in order?

When will someone be there for me?
Will I be alive when they call?

There's no true way of knowing.

The tragedy is in living, not in dying.

Am I the monster, who hides beneath a coat while I stalk life, ready to grab it, bury it in my teeth, and rip out its heart?
Am I just the boy getting his revenge on those who hurt him?

Because, if not, if I'm just another mortal staring up, and wondering if I'm breathing right, might I want to thank someone in particular?

Reach over and squeeze my hand, but don't offer advice.

Can I let go?

Maybe.
We all have secrets.

This is mine, as personal as a matter of self-discovery, albeit, vaster.

Dumbing the inner mind down for pleasure,

Is that masturbation?

Another day without relenting to stories.