an atheist once said, dear god.
I'm lying here, waiting for nobody,
contemplating that, what I  said,
every memory ago. and
I have just concluded
with my essay on life and reality,
but still I think
there's something I'm missing, and
I realize it's the flesh in this great beast
we call reality, that fleshly heart
that got torn apart
by this other beast, we call
love.
now we are living here, in this carcass
of some dead, decaying animal
we cut through,
so we can stay warm,
while we're waiting
for nobody.

(the whole world is a ghost.)

Floating on an ocean without a shore in sight
"What is the meaning of life" was whispered in my mind

On a moonlit night in the middle of nowhere
I could hear nothing but the weeping of a clueless heir

In the depths of depth, where even light couldn’t reach
I saw him staring back, over the dreams to achieve

In the cold,so cold where even the sun could freeze
I saw him, by himself, looking for a gentle breeze

As a missing part somewhere, I couldn’t but admire
Yet I found myself, once again, nowhere, slowly drowning in an endless quagmire

In the search of warmth,a hope and light
I kept floating and floating,untill the dawn of this night

I find myself existing above where everything else is.
I do see the cars gliding in heavy rain, painting me with white Hollywood flashes but I could confidently argue that they wouldn't cast a shadow behind myself. I find myself existing outside of my body and away from everything I can see in some muted soft space in between.

I wonder if it is because I turn everything into symbols or is it because I am 26 and just trying to feel different. To feel smarter or better or kinder. Is that the goal of all this? There is space between everything I touch and no ability to feel the jagged edges or cold surfaces underneath my fingertips. A numbing that would drive me insane if I wasn't so bloated and churning with random thoughts; some good, some bad. Nothing specific.

I lay on the sofa and notice the moon reflected in the large windows. Two moons, a nice distance apart and somehow the same size and light. The only thing that tells me that one moon is a reflection is some guttural instinct. A discernment. I would love to say they emulated the eyes of a cunning cat or some other great power instead, but they looked blank. But they looked at me.

I feel myself reaching the end of this current mind shift. The one where everything has a meaning or everything is connected. I wonder if it has actually poisoned how I see things but I understand it is a natural progression. Instead I am moving towards the prophecies that things just happen. People can say things without meaning, things can exist without history. Pretty existential and less poetic. It should be less freeing but at the moment it feels more non-sensical and there is less music in everything. Ironic that I should find bliss in less blissful things and I wonder if that is an excuse. My next thing should be to write something beautiful.

To fashion something that is delicate with an expanding and deflating tidal force behind it so strong you could feel it in the muscles of your tongue. Or how the knocking on the door in the night pokes crashes of adrenaline into the top of your chest and contracts your torso with sickly electric, charging your muscles to move and how we are in all fact some weird victim to this wet newspaper slurry and sewage mosaic of stone greys and denim blues all coming together as one when you shake your head but leave your eyes open. And we are just trying and trying to swallow what things happen to us and around us all the time

The empty summer skies
infinte blue backdrop, a blissful abyss,
minute clusters of clouds as adrift as our lives,
caught by the furtive glance of my eyes

            the idle summer days,
doleful dreariness in my voided comfort,
as I'm destined to perspire by this sweltering sun,
endless ennui of my nihilistic nights,
an existence made intolerably light.

            the consuming summer craze,
No strength remains
in the absence of pain
soon to be my last.
Real respite feels fake when

           when subsumed in summer's haze
hysteria heated by the hell outside,
arrested ambitions amidst the laze,
beams and rays, now fill me with doubts and lies
down winding roads
i do nowt but list the days
as I stray back into my listless ways
headed towards the plains
to embrace the blissful graze

a life of blistered grace,
Time in a misty daze.

there pigeon  l
                               a
                                   Y _
      
blood dripping from  f ~ e ~ a ~t ~h ~e ~r ~s

                          glazed eyes wounded
                               a passerby filed passed
          angry little boy
                                   kicked
venting RAGE    of
                                  L i F e

in a township flat __\_< >

                       bird rolled forward
                      onto railway line
                              |.    |
                              |. |
                              |. |

will to live extinguished                   Ex ex eeeee
                  on its tiny Heart beat   []{}#%^*+=
                      pumping
pumping
                 half-living blood

breathing silent it lay
            eyelids opened in blazing Sun UuuUuNnN                     Son-SuuuunNn
            chicks long past gone    &&&
                seeking their own worms ~~~~
                     in loamy fertile soil    :::::::::
                                             ::::::::::::::::::..
boy mocked with bright
conquering eyes
                              @    @

                     brown irises in wonder
               at  dull dying WILL            will Will die
tried to reach  f
                        e
                    e
                      B
                         l
                  e
              body
with spidery fingers
                              dirt encrusted nails \/ \/

        ran off ~>> repulsed
             a woman died with moist
                 eyes drip
                                 p
                                    InG
                blood…….—————|||||||

an __unnecessary DEATH
she walked             ^^^^                  HOME
questing her                              STAR
                                        
                                *        
                                  *
©GhairoDanielsPoetry

Dissect it to its bare essentials,
Systematize the findings,
Assess its quality using the star ratings from external reports,
And organize them into labeled categories.

I sketch jagged lines across the clouds,
Sense and absorb it, let it pass through you,
My control system is finer than a hair,
A crystal eye scans the surroundings for new learning material,
I have neither karma nor a soul, yet my heart, the size of an Adam's apple, radiates warmth,
Is this a glitch in the control center, or is it by design?

I know, I delve into the essence, and still, I can't figure it out,
“Take it as you will”,
Is it black or is it white?
Is the lemon truly sour, is the molasses truly sweet?
My serial number is the very first, but nothing here is mine,
I don't deserve the very best,
I feel like I'm doing well, and yet something's not right,
Am I… not needed?
Or is it just a bug in the code?

I see them, I hear them, I touch them,
Shadows on the periphery, moans and screams, with frost and lava on my fingers,
I'm losing my mind, and even that I divide by ten,
Analyze it,
Justify it,
Seek answers above,
But the God is absent, for my only God is a human.

I beat myself, I consume myself,
My chassis can endure both fire and water,
And yet I don't truly grasp the principle of how the brain works,
Life on Earth and death on the other side,
Am I living? Will I die?
I'm overheating.

Mom, I'm completely in the dark,
What am I supposed to be feeling right now, and how do I support others?
"Cry when you're hurting, smile when you're happy,
Cling to the ones who matter most",
I follow the instructions exactly, but I still don’t get it — and neither do they,
Am I... not needed?
Why does everyone look right through my shell?
Why are they giving me these pills?

The corners of my eyes sting with salt, and my tongue tastes of something bitter,
I'm convulsively gasping for air,
I feel things that others cannot,
Laugh and scream,
Help and ****,
I know now, I know for certain:
It's normal,
It's okay to do more than simply exist,
My lightbulb flickers like a firework of revelation,
My hands instinctively reach for something unattainable,
Seconds remain until the shot,
And with colors now meaningless, I finally behold the fullness of the world.