The best way to escape reality without running,
is smiling even though it's obviously fake
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
People live their lives bound by what they accept as correct & true.
That’s how they define Reality.
But what does it mean to be “correct” or “true”?
Merely vague concepts…
Their Reality may all be a mirage.
Can we consider them to simply be living in their own world..
Shaped by their beliefs?
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
And the only peace I'll find is in bed falling asleep. Probably dreaming of betters times. My pulse says im alive but my mind is six feet deep. Gaps of absence within a heartbeat, a mix with the silence in the streets. I haven't loved in weeks. And if blood was a river mine would be flooding the banks, overlooking the lands drowning my innocence. Because since when did love or hate make any sense? Is there even a difference between their distance? The world is a beautiful place and I am no longer afraid or are they relevant to their existence? The threads of my soul vibrate to the rhythm of your breath. A constant reminder of what the summer once meant, underneath sentiments and word placements. Because its one thing to be upset, torn and ripped asunder, its another to be whole and put together, but always feeling alone and under the weather. Sleeping isnt exactly sleep if your still wide awake, hoping for a better day to come by. But it doesnt come, and youre stuck singing the same sad songs, praying that the sun would explode, and maybe the light will finally show. Im not empty im just not full, but i love this weather and i love this idea that one day everything will come together. That every thread leads to one another and not everything is lost. not everything is lost, not everything i believed in is gone, because if there's some sort of hope, then maybe there's some sort of reason to live. But this feeling, this rush of emotion that pierces my every pulse, it belongs to someone or something, and ive lost sight of what it was and who it spoke to. Im covering up the ideas that the past is harmful but the future is important, im just trying to find a reason to sleep calmly, that doesnt revolve around you or me.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
Maybe this will destroy me and perhaps somethings aren't meant to get better. The summers coming along once again, its burning skin and its welcoming. I never wanted to experience any of this, it feels as if winter is going to last year round and i have no escape in sight, Im falling victim to a rescue turned prison, i can finally see myself getting stronger, a sense of accomplishment i never believed was closer then it was farther. Ive felt lonely these past few months and ive fell farther then i couldve known. The silence echos and the waters are running, the rivers begin flooding the riverbanks of a new found innocence i was told to believe was lost long ago. But here i stand at the edge of my 23rd birthday, still unsure but somehow not so unhappy, i wish i had some sort of reasoning to explain all of this, but perhaps things arent meant to rhyme all the time, they just do and when they dont its nobody's fault not even your own. Because the world is a beautiful place and im no longer afraid, im trying hard to stay above water, im trying even harder to breath, im trying hard to see everything clearly. But im getting there, believe me.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
10 cents says scent is the strongest sense.
For now you're just someone who lives in my past tense.
Although none of this makes any sense, these dreams still hold dominance over my residence.
Brilliance abundance of remembrance, you keep me in bed.
Breathing in nonsense. My mind, an absence.
I'm stuck between the smell and the linger of something that has gone and went.
But it thrives in essence, and chooses to make a mess of all my senses.
Then the snow fell. And the car slid. I'm still overlooking fences.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
This isn't a poem.
This isn't a work of art.
This is just a moment of my life.
This evening a girl whom i had recently met confessed something to me, she cupped her hands and looked down at her feet, then slowly tilted her head up a few degrees just enough for my eyes to capture a glimpse of her lips as she spoke. She than said "Youre dangerous..i can tell..aren't you?" To further explain what had happened allow me to backtrack for a moment. A few minutes prior to this we had been talking, and suddenly as per usual upon meeting someone, sometimes even as often as just having a conversation with someone who sparks my inner interests, she had found herself in contact with the person i become when i speak. I completely dissolve my previous persona and manifest myself in an entirely new personality that seems to have the innate ability to perform human speech at an incredible level. What do i mean? Speech. The humane ability to vocalize human communication. It is based upon the syntactic combination of lexicals and names that are drawn from very large vocabularies. Speech. Once i start talking i cannot help myself, my words just flow and they seem to always find a way to properly cascade out of my mouth and almost form that of a river. They just stream so precisely as if it were planned however the honesty in the words i choose and the way i speak is something you cannot deny. She asked me questions regarding who i am, what i am,w ** do i want to be. She further asked what do i believe, my interests, my passions, my ideology behind love and hate. I answered each one with the way i have always answered them and with each passing answer, with each passing sentence she began to grow more intrigued almost mesmerized by the way i was able to collect my thoughts so rapidly yet create such a vivid mental picture out of nothing. She then said that this was dangerous, because people like me, we know how to talk, we know how to word the things we want. Were 'persuasive'. Shes right, this is a horrible ability, its both a gift and a curse. To be able to always get what you want but, not me. When it comes down to speaking out for the things and people i want most, i am at a loss for words. All my thought process becomes is sand to water, useless. Just another speck in an endless void waiting for a chance to collect with another grain of sand in the hopes that maybe, ill reach above water level.
In the end, i'm a bird that can soar but becomes far too afraid when he flies too high.
But nothing will ever stop me from perfecting my ability to talk.
i want to create riots in peoples blood as i speak.
I want you to feel something when i speak.
I have a new dream now.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
Today i woke up, walked all the way to the overpeck park overlooking the frozen lake. I remember how much you loved this place, and so i sat there for an hour just thinking about you. And everything we talked about and everything we ever laughed about. And it was freezing but the cold didnt nearly compare to how much im missing you. All week ive been just a walking shell, harboring every ounce of detachment to my emotions and to my inability to feel anything but numb. I thought something was wrong with me, because all week ive been finding solitude in unfamiliar places and burying myself in unfamiliar faces in the hopes it would make all this easier. But this week you left us, and you were my best friend since high school and now youre gone. And i have no idea how to deal with it, ive made myself laugh to convince myself its not true, but in reality im a mess when im alone. You were the first person i ran into every single day in high school and the first person who would attempt to make me laugh when i was having a bad day. So no,i cant say im going to be strong today when i see you at the service and i cant say that im going to express any emotions because its just who i am, but if i do its all going to come out like water ripping through a dam. You impacted so many peoples lives and made friends wherever you touched ground, you were light to people who had never known a true friend or had no reason to believe there was any left. And everyday i carry your image, i carry your ideas and the things you taught me on how to appreciate those who have made you happy, how to laugh when things aren't always the best and how to never take someone for granted because one day they'll be gone. And ill keep that same promise we made in high school until the day i die. Everyone's talking about you and not a single person will forget you, you truly are an inspiration and i will miss you. And i promise ill think of you often, im just being honest. Thats all i can offer. Thats all that i know how to give. RIP Chynna.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Watching muscles ache from the stress in your back
Waiting for bones to break from the weight of what you lack.
I would spend all my time helping you find truth,
And it really cuts like a knife knowing I can't save you.
And it really eats me inside, knowing i cant bring you back.
AND I CANT TELL WHAT HURTS MORE.
PIECING MYSELF TOGETHER OR PRETENDING IM INTACT
THE FACT YOUR CONTACT IN MY PHONE IS JUST A MEMORY
OR THAT ILL NEVER BE ABLE TO ACCEPT YOUR MORTALITY...
Because saying goodbye hurts the worst when you know it's the final word
It comes across like a curse and I can't believe you said it first
So now the final word on the final page
of the final chapter of this narrative we made
Is my weak conscious whispering words through my mouth,
the very words I prayed would never come out.
I keep clinging onto the past and hoping the future will be the same,
But now I cry and laugh knowing the past would not remain
And I would argue with God, every night I would lie awake
And lie to myself, hoping all of this was fake.
But fate has a funny way of rearranging things.
It comes in unannounced and misplaces everything.
The hours are ticking and they feel like forever.
But forever came suddenly and it feels like nothing.
Because I got a new perspective on general anesthetics
When you finally went to see Jesus,
and all your family learned how to believe in a void,
because that's all that they could see.
Cigarette smoke and broken words,
My heart became the platform for everything they hated the most,
And I stayed clear of the lack,
Hoping somebody would come by and cut this rope.
And I wrestled with the idea of taking your place,
But I know that if anyone deserves a break from this world of pain,
It's you, it's not me.
And I'm still asleep.
It's not about being there for me, it's about respecting me enough
to tell me why you're not.
So I'll just slip back into my sleep,
There's a ghost in my casket .
and most nights, I wish it was you.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
If you never break youll never know how, to put yourself back together. And if we never fall down, youll never learn how to brush off the dirt on your knees, and tell yourself, this isnt me, im free and this is not all that i can or will be. Or wont be, whats the difference? Is my self taught fascination for a life i can only dream about, my own undoing? or am i simply reacting to the chemicals procreating within my head, all assembled to make one thing clear but unsaid: That im alive and so are you. Even when it feels like the night resembles the reflection of who and what weve become deep inside, well if the tides can change then so can we and well flow just as eagerly and carelessly, but with such beauty. All of this it amazes me, and i can only picture it in somber incandescent shades of dreams but reality and sleep paralysis are all interconnected and if i hadn't said it then i know you've thought it. Flawlessly sewn together, were the moments of our lives, and we walked through every door not knowing that the lights would be off or that the walls would have voices. Speaking and listening, just as much as we were hopelessly suffering without telling anybody. I knew more about you from just looking at you then i knew about myself, you spoke in secrecy and silence, but the words from your mouth resonated in vibrant violence. Almost definite and deafening. And maybe im not saying a word to you, but im also not admitting a thing to myself, Half whisper, half melody, i sculpt this with your image. This all comes down to rules in poetry. But when the sun breaks through the window pane. The glimmer and gleam peak first, and on my desk theres a picture. A memory suspeneded in time i guess, this makes no sense why i keep here on my desk. But part of me enjoys teh way the light seems to amplify it. Inanimate but it speaks louder then i ever could, and id show you what i meant if i ever could. Im not getting any ideas on how to act about this.. And if the waters calm, if they should ever decrease, then let me know exactly whats the point of this. Redundant suffering, well wheres the progression in that? Is it hard to except that the only talent you lack is the fact you cant admit you think about death often? And maybe not death in a coffin, but the death of your mentality, your ability to feel. Youre losing all motion, youre looking for pleasure, some sort of defeat, it all turns to anger and danger. Well maybe the grass isnt always greener in your neighbros yard,it looks so pristine how it glistens how it comes back to life in the light. But perhaps you can look a little closer, climb over that white picket fence, and tkae a gander at how the grass i just weeds but perspective is a visual disease.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC