I want...

[foi_nefaste]

I want to paint.

I want to write.

I want to scream poetry at the moon, knowing that She will hear all and appreciate little.

I want to run through the woods, lit only by the light of the waning moon, hearing the howls of the coyotes which surround the countryside.

I want to collapse into a heap of snow and screams and ashes, singing to the divine glory of the muses.

I want to feel the bite of the winter wind on bare skin, to dance among the icicles which hang off the pine trees, and to skirt around the sides of the frozen stream, seeing it only as the Lethe.

I want to feel the blaze of the bonfires scorching the edges of my skin, to hear the crackle of pine needles flaming into the night, to dance around the edges of the burning branches, lit only by the desire to feel.

I want to make love 'till morning, to scream into the night, and to wake again when the sun has set, leaving only a haze of red on all it touches.

I want to slither through the shadows of the trees, dancing with the angles of moonlight reflecting off the snow, making the forest gleam with forgotten glory.

I want the symbols of truth and faith and mystery dyed onto my back as a reminder of all that can be lost; to feel the sting of memory and the pain of being, and to know that nothing will be forgotten forever.

I want to skim through the pages of eternity, flowing through time, laughing at the mortals who are happy to be confined to their existence.

I want to be surrounded by wine and smoke and jazz, singing obscene odes to the gods of the city lights.

I want to ignore the dirt and cars and noise, hearing only the music of the stars and the rush of wind along the St-Lawrence river.

I want...