I make beauty
Feverishly
Always keep dancing
For what happens,
If I stop?
Always responding
Processing
I keep loving
For what happens,
If I stop?
Inescapably
I keep thinking
Towers of thoughts
For what happens,
If I stop?
Fever
My skin detaches itself
Thoughts racing
To catch the devil in action
To finally breathe out
Fever
My blood boils over
Bones are breaking
To be put back together
Differently
Never again
Can I catch the wind listening.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 9:58 PM UTC
I live in the land of intuitions now.
Here, we don’t make the rules, and we follow no principles.
We don’t ever ask why. Or we do ask.
We scream why, and the void says no.
No, why is not a question.
Only what is.
I wander the ruins of past lives.
Who were these people who lived here,
And who was I, who was I?
I pick up the dust of their houses and bones.
I breathe it in.
It smells of something I had forgotten.
Endlessly I wander, and let the ghosts touch my hair.
Black birds circle, overhead.
I think they’re waiting, for the moment I sit down.
Admit that I don’t know where I am going.
But where am I going? Where even am I?
And why don’t I know?
Slowly I keep walking, walking, walking,
Breathing under the open sky,
Watching the birds watch me,
Watching the sky and the stars, listening to their sounds.
I stop, and let my hand touch the ground.
What is this, I want to ask.
What is this, and what am I?
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 5:36 PM UTC