Abaft the puckered velvet, they lie at rest,
reluctantly waiting to depart their somber.
A crowd of many sit behind the curtain,
yet they lay apathetic.
Moving aimlessly between two worlds,
they loiter in the realm of repose.
Overlooking the light which peeks under the shutter,
they dance with the Sandman.
Then, when he is satisfied,
he lifts the drape from which they hide.
And at the awakening of a new dawn,
they encounter a familiar light.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:18 AM UTC
Irate clouds leave my mind overcast.
Forming a tempest in my hyperactive right hemisphere
even though I beg them to fade into calm like
tums in a glass or pop that’s lost its fizzle.
Unsympathetic,
arduous reminders of memories sweet - forged in permanent ink.
Or -- hope that this period of uncertainty too shall pass.
Either way, my thoughts have this sort of
morphine fascination with the tension deep inside me.
Internal addicts getting high at my demise,
Or -- a tolerance break hiding behind a viscose curtain of grief
Either way, I feel like I’m dying.
Or - maybe I’ve never been more alive.
Cause you know, pain is often perceived as pleasure
Stimuli are weird
Maybe I'm just afraid.
Stricken by the thought of separation
from what brought me to comfort
and losing part of myself.
Terrified of the ambiguity associated with change.
Terrified of giving my all just to end back at the start.
But existence is neither
cyclical, linear or spectrum-based
it just is.
I’m in control of nothing.
Which is the most liberating feeling
but also what’s rendered me paralyzed.
I guess I’ll just have to wait.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC
The cicadas are louder than usual.
Maybe it’s ‘cause I live in the country.
Maybe it’s just uncomfortably silent in my room.
Either way, the critters outside are clouding my thoughts.
I don’t like not being able to hear myself.
I hate having to stick my finger inside of my ear
and pull thoughts out of my head
because every time I write them down
they feel fabricated.
As if i can't trust my own voice.
I miss the feeling of comfortable silence.
That feeling you get from rooftops in brooklyn.
Seeing the never ending movement of the city that never sleeps
even when everybody back home has gone to bed.
Finding comfort in the fact that
in the grand scheme of things you’re no larger than an ant
and neither are your problems.
In that moment
it’s okay that you’re insignificant.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:25 PM UTC
Ulysses
Bound by these chains
I am forsaken.
Abandoned by His blessing
I am ******
to a suffering eternal.
The shackles which grasp my feet grow tighter with every step I take.
The unbending fastening held by the constraints around my neck becomes narrow as it breaches my flesh
Granting me only enough air to stay conscious
But I am not apperceptive, I am not cognizant,
I do not understand.
I would sacrifice my heart for the savor of authentic human affection
For the sensation of a kiss can only linger in my mind for so long
the saccharine taste shall cease eventually
Oh, my sweet, sweet propensity
Like Ulysses
I wish for wax, to block out the melodious call of that siren song
To impede the outside noise of those whom I will never truly feel
I yearn to rewind time like the wheels of a broken watch
And return to yesterday,
For I met affection then
if only for a moment.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC