Little Broken Hearts

Relax.  That's what I kept telling myself, "just relax," as I was reading Paradise Lost, though inside I was smoldering.  Again, I was reading an epic about God and again I found myself hating religion.  Why is there a need to  justify everything with either repenting to God, or saying that God made you do it? And then, Milton felt the need to demean women through Eve and I was about ready to explode.  Explode is the wrong word; I was ready to grab my dagger and inflict some serious damage. I wonder what Milton was thinking, he who came from a woman,
The dick.
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And we're all pretty fucked up, you know?  We're all really fucked up, talking about the environment and the refugees and the government but then doing nothing and coming up with shit excuses for why not. I'm sure this is not news to anyone.  This can't be news to anyone.
I wonder what it would be like if people actually did shit about the problems in the world, myself included.
But you know what? It'd probably still be just as fucked up as it currently is because according to Milton, we're all doomed to Sin and subsequently Death, no matter what.
Thanks a lot Milton.
And you guys wonder why I have authority complexes.

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Relax.
Discordant and unbidden, they will come,
crawling into bed to fuse to the body.
Your arms, your legs, are not your own.
Sharpen the edges; batten down your hatches.
But, relax.
Lighting candles, to no avail
while sickly sweet smoke bubbles up;
The mind is the worst enemy created.
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I hope you're all enjoying my recent bursts of desire to write- you have my procrastination to thank for that because I'm staring at my Norton Anthology right now, willing it to go away.

"Only human in the heaving heat of the animals
Bit of brown salt, stinging on my tongue
I will not waver, heart will not wait it's turn
It will beat, it will burn burn, burn your love into the ground
With the lips of another
'Til you get lonely, sure I get lonely
Sometimes."