k-paige-bender - Hello Poetry

the photographer has a golden hour and i am envious of them the golden hour is the period of time directly after sunrise or before sunset it is here where light kisses dark it is here that these artists thrive and come alive it is here where they capture a magical transition synchronized soft inevitable the writer may spend months in a stupor searching for their next golden hour how dizzying it is to realize that what we see is believed to be more real than what we feel when will the sun rise in my mind again? -k.p.-

0

Mar 9, 2018

Mar 9, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC

k-paige-bender

4:43am

the photographer has a golden hour and i am envious of them the golden hour is the period of time directly after sunrise or before sunset it is here where light kisses dark it is here that these artists thrive and come alive it is here where they capture a magical transition synchronized soft inevitable the writer may spend months in a stupor searching for their next golden hour how dizzying it is to realize that what we see is believed to be more real than what we feel when will the sun rise in my mind again? -k.p.-

16

these synthetic lights are too loud the microphone keeps threatening to take off my head i don’t want to be a part of this cast anymore the script is grim, defected infecting my nights as i fixate on the plot, which baffles me with its steady flow of crisis the director keeps demanding dramatic theatricals from me we rehearsed this particular scene a few dozen times i’m in an airport terminal a woman bears to me grave news of a man who has drowned himself screeches erupt from the mouth of a child end scene now the final production has been released i’m sitting in the audience my life is happening on the screen there are earthquakes in my veins i am the director of this film roll the credits but don’t give me credit for this -k.p.-

0

Mar 9, 2018

Mar 9, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC

k-paige-bender

suicide credit

these synthetic lights are too loud the microphone keeps threatening to take off my head i don’t want to be a part of this cast anymore the script is grim, defected infecting my nights as i fixate on the plot, which baffles me with its steady flow of crisis the director keeps demanding dramatic theatricals from me we rehearsed this particular scene a few dozen times i’m in an airport terminal a woman bears to me grave news of a man who has drowned himself screeches erupt from the mouth of a child end scene now the final production has been released i’m sitting in the audience my life is happening on the screen there are earthquakes in my veins i am the director of this film roll the credits but don’t give me credit for this -k.p.-

27

there are bodies on the street with alleyway homes and crooked teeth their itchy stares cut through rain and stick on me they are wavering somewhere between desperation and apathy and i’m out of my head because i see their disruption in me there is a crisis of coldness flooding big cities there is a crisis of avoidance and a crisis of indulgence and it’s typing people to anchors and making them sink i must confess that i’ve glamorized my sadness and look where that’s gotten me the death drive has a hold on the rich, the poor, and the in-between fixated on an after-life that will never be or crazed by a substance to bring them to their knees this city is an ocean of people divided but dying from the same ******* thing -k.p.-

0

Mar 9, 2018

Mar 9, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC

k-paige-bender

apathy: the silent killer

there are bodies on the street with alleyway homes and crooked teeth their itchy stares cut through rain and stick on me they are wavering somewhere between desperation and apathy and i’m out of my head because i see their disruption in me there is a crisis of coldness flooding big cities there is a crisis of avoidance and a crisis of indulgence and it’s typing people to anchors and making them sink i must confess that i’ve glamorized my sadness and look where that’s gotten me the death drive has a hold on the rich, the poor, and the in-between fixated on an after-life that will never be or crazed by a substance to bring them to their knees this city is an ocean of people divided but dying from the same ******* thing -k.p.-

17