that thing strapped to my leg
is an artificial heart
my digital liver fits nicely
in what looks like a backpack
peristaltic action for digestion:
a mini quantum dot siphon
kidneys are actually implanted
nano graphene filters in the blood
I am a bionic man because I can afford it
but I am losing my brain
there is no replacement
despite computing prowess that worries the gods
there is no substitute for a soul
the Tao of this universe is irony only
and now the immortality of my body
horrifies my every thought
as the fluids pump
and the heart moves
but cannot beat
it's like everyone is making fun of you for never seeing a zoosla.
but when you ask what a zoosla is,
well, if you saw a zoosla, you'd know.
that is exactly what sexuality is like.
you have no idea what it even is,
so how are you supposed to know if you've felt it?
I wonder about you every day.
Any little thing.
Do you miss my voice?
I miss your voice.
Did you cry today?
Did you smile?
I miss your smile.
How is school?
What have you forgotten?
Where? Who? Why? When?
Am I the first you think of when you wake up?
Does every little and big thing remind you of me?
Do you crave my lips like I do yours?
Does a song remind you of us?
Do you gaze over at your passenger seat and long for me to be there?
When you close your eyes can you feel me?
Does your body ache for my touch?
My soul wants to leave this body to find your soul.
Am I the last thing on your mind as you drift off?
Have you dreamed of me?
Have you cried yourself to sleep?
Will you forget me and all that we have?
Do you still love me and want me in your life?
Sometimes, I am very impulsive
And sometimes, even compulsive
Can you imagine, that I am imperfect?
It all must be shocking to you all, for sometimes, I am who I am
Sometimes, I am very dark and somewhat confusing
And sometimes, I just don’t know when to stop refusing
But, does that make me so much different than you ?
Oh man , it must be shocking that sometimes, someone like me is someone like you
Sometimes, I can be aggressive
Or even sometimes, I can be incredibly passive
But, imagine that sometimes, me being me, is someone like you
And at the end of the day, sometimes, and I mean sometimes, is someone like you
Sometimes, I wonder if you are listening.
Sometimes, these deep dark entrenching vines crush me
I could only wish that sometime you will listen to me
It is all so plain to see; and sometimes, I blow things our of proportion but, now, you aren't glistening
Sometimes you understand me; Have the tides finally turned?
Changing into something hoping you realize that sometimes we are both deranged
I feel sometimes, that my life, and your life, need to be rearranged
And some time, maybe one day, you will finally accept me
You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something
must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.
Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.
Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.
And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck
hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.
There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak
as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.
This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.
That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful
like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’
but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness
and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”
about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf
when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.
Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.
For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole
at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.
Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.
There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed
at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.
There is nothing to be marvelled at
This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.
This is being a slave to your own body,
a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.
You are not alive.
But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.
A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;
for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,
that only captures in black and white,
with frozen hands.
And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.
snowflakes like fingertips
the deep crimson stain
of desperation on my lips
your eyes hold safety
with the ringing syllables
with the easy smirks
and the way my hands
i've carved you into my sallow skin
saying thank you with each notch
it's when my fingers slip
the fragile bricks packed through with mortar
lose their hold
i really hope
you have a good birthday
there was a long trailer filled
with film reels the size of automobile tires
sitting in racks
it was my job to drive the truck pulling the trailer
through a convenience store parking lot
that was vaguely recognized
I felt confident that I could handle the job
and spoke to some other ghosts
concerning the details
abruptly shifted to changing my cloths
in an acquaintance’s home
in a wide open shower area that had fixtures of wood
that hung like closet hangers
on the tiled wall of the shower
there were sayings and quotes
written by other people using sharpie pens
that were stuck to the walls
I was carrying on a conversation
with the ghosts in the adjoining bedroom
one older, recognizable, sitting on the bed
two others, children, accepting a cynical lecture
from the older ghost
I felt the strong desire to add a quote to the walls
that sense of wanting to be heard
very similar to my desires in a awakened state
I thought and thought hard on the wisdom words
I should leave and came up with
‘’All thinking is exaggeration’’ but the sharpie pen
I chose, would not work on the tiled wall and I gave up
to enter the bedroom and listen to the lecture
with the other ghosts
there was a swirling understanding and then I awoke
Grab a handful
Of warm dirt
Hard between thumb and forefinger
So it spills out upon wrinkling toes
When dew hits the morning green
Write sorrows and joys
With a stick
In cursive on the ground
Savor grim and grit,
Grow earthy, real
To become unclean
Watch new growth sprout
To meet the day
Become like a child
Play as a child
Forging through the frozen wastelands
surface ice cracks and splinters
it's summer here now
yet it feels like mid winter
Ice all over the stern and bow
but that will not stop this machine
for it is made of iron and steel
new explorations is it's will
To the continent where the sun has dominion
going back to the cold lands of white
my sweet home, kingdom of ice
my kingdom as cold as my heart
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
FINALLY THE TIME HAS COME
TO PUT UP A TREE
WITH BIG BRIGHT BALLS HANGING ON IT
PEOPLE DO THIS TO MAKE IT LOOK NICE
BUT BELLS AND STARS THAT ARE HUNG ON IT MAKE IT LOOK MAGICAL
A BIG STAR OR AN ANGEL PERHAPS
IS HUNG ON THE FIRST BRANCH OF THE TREE
LIGHTS ARE PUT ALL AROUND THE TREE
WHICH MAKES IT LOOK LIKE A TREE MADE OF FIREFLIES
CANDLES ARE LIT
SOCKS ARE HUNG UP
CAKE IS BAKED
AND WINE IS SERVED
ALL YEAR LONG KIDS PLAY GOOD
IN A HOPE TO GET SOMETING NICE
FROM THEIR HERO
A CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER IS SET
WITH FAMILY MEMBERS ALL AROUND
LATE AT NIGHT WHEN ALL ARE ASLEEP
HE COMES IN WITH HIS BAG OF GOODIES
PUTS A GIFT UNDER EACH TREE
HOPING ALL THE KIDS ARE HAPPY
MORNING..MORNING THEY WAKE UP
RUN TO THE TREE AND START OPENING GIFTS
ALL OF THEM HAVE A HUGE WIDE GRIN
BIG ENOUGH TO SHOW ALL THEIR 34 TEETH
THEY SIT AND SING CHRISTMAS CALORS ALL DAY
AND WAIT OF THE NEXT 25TH OF DECEMBER TO ARRIVE