Prose from Santiago Burdon

Two Dollar Talisman

I have never professed to know much, although what I do know,

is there’s a distance between want and need, the road is treacherous, plagued with storms  in time cause your ambition to rust and your ego to bleed, your hunger doesn’t entitle you admission, to take part in the soul feast, believing no one’s pain is greater than your own, you’ve paid your dues now fate owes you, but you’ve defaulted on the loan.

Your want is always a desire, for  the image reflected in a selfish mirror,  you’re damned to keep counting blessings, coming up short, then feeling cheated, out of what was never yours. Still you ask why your prayers go unanswered, self indulgent wishes are ignored, worshiping the two dollar Talisman, bought at the thrift store, it has exhausted any cosmic goodwill  it never had  before, turns out  to be just another poor choice, as a last resort. if a line between  right and wrong ever existed, you snorted it long ago, and conscience you considered an encumbrance, was shed in liability’s shadow.

I’ve lived in the underbelly of a deplorable existence, the reward for addiction and a troubled mind, been to places where Jesus was afraid to visit, acting on some drug’s bad advice, I learned the less I wanted, the more I understood what it is I need, it rains diamonds on Neptune, and there’s blue sunsets on Mars, but what do I know,

I’m just an imitation of me.

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