You sit in your chair, crazy lenses on your eyes
As you perfect your perfect human disguise,
Poking and prodding inside of my skull
With ice picks and drills, never anything dull.
My jaw is locked, and my tongue is now tied.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” you tell me. You lied.
I lay here, strapped down, for what feels like hours,
As your assistant sits in the corner and glowers,
And you slip me some music as if it’s all okay
As blood rushes and gushes out, clear as day.
The buzzing and shaking is all just too much,
And I can’t stop my body from quaking at your touch.
Quaking in fear that this will go horribly wrong,
For I have already been trapped here far too long.
A smile grows on your face as my heartbeat quickens,
And you laugh as it gets louder, and as my body stiffens.
Finally, days later, I’m released from your experiment,
Only to find out, in six months, I’ll be back again.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
The ever-present longing
To do it all is creeping back;
The need
for
experience.
Invincibility finding a home
In the entirety of my mind.
The desire to
feel
everything;
To allow it to fill the lungs;
To engulf a
mere
existence.
The yearning to see the world
In the brightest of colors
For exactly
what
it
is,
And even more significantly,
What
it
is
not.
The surface won’t serve to suffice;
To quell this undying urge
To feel;
To see;
To inhale;
To exhale;
To become;
To detach;
To feel the heart furiously beating,
And pumping the world through the body.
Invincible.
Existing.
Engulfed in
Experience…
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
His mouth spews shallow stories.
Facts and figures roll off his tongue;
The fact that he reigns in all his glory,
And the figures he makes in the business he runs.
His pockets weigh him down
As people offer to lighten his load on the street.
He turns a blind eye, and continues through town
While they lack clothes on their back and shoes on their feet.
Arrogance radiates from his very being,
And his eyes inspect those below himself.
But they view the world from a point he’s not seeing,
So he turns the other cheek to their cries for help.
He has his suit pressed, his sleeves rolled,
And the perpetual bottle in hand.
He feels no emotion, no matter what he’s told,
As he goes on with his perfect life, head in the sand.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
Feet striking the stone,
Hauling this cross on my back.
Wounds from the chains
That once whipped not too long ago.
And I carry not just the cross,
But the weight of my world.
and not just my world, but yours.
Thorns dig into my head,
Ripping my flesh.
The clouds roll in.
Rain pounds the world one drop at a time.
My feet slip atop the mud.
The forest in the distance;
The only sign of life
In this desolate, abandoned town…
So far away.
This journey is utterly bootless.
Suffering for my sins and yours,
The knife in my side is proof.
I saw in my mind, the altar;
The pedestal once revered.
And now, as I trod to my demise,
All I can envision is my crucifixion
As just another story in your book.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Searching for one thing,
I sometimes find another.
Like the time…
The time I searched for freedom;
Freedom from my chains
That hold me down to the ocean floor.
Water filled my lungs.
Salty water burned my eyes.
I cold not breathe, and the darkness;
It began to cloud my vision;
To envelop me; To swallow me whole.
I could no longer see.
Everything gone. I was numb.
I never found freedom.
No, but I fount comfort;
Comfort in the darkness;
Comfort in the truth.
I found comfort in the reality.
This harsh reality that has consumed my mind,
And the harsh reality
That I am my chains.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Every night since life began,
I have been lulled to sleep;
Lulled by your deafening whisper;
Rocked by your protecting arms.
You have to think more.
You have to do more.
You have to be more.
You tell me to do my best.
“That’s all I ask,” you say.
“It’s not much,” you say.
“I’ll never be disappointed,” you say.
But what happens when my best
Doesn’t measure up?
When I don’t come out on top?
When things don’t go
According to your master plan?
You tell me to do my best,
But you’re really saying,
“Do my best.”
Have I lost myself in your standards?
Have I become less like me,
And consumed in you?
No. I do not strive to do your best.
I do not strive to be the best.
I do not even seek my own best.
I simply seek to know the beauty
Of what is beyond be.
Now I am lulled to sleep
By the crunching of leaves,
And the snapping of twigs.
I am cradled in the raw power
Of the ocean tide,
Controlled by the moon,
Far beyond my reach
And far beyond
My mortal comprehension.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Darkness calls my name again.
This artificial happiness fades fast.
It seems as though darkness is my only loyal friend;
The only relationship I have that will last.
These monsters lurk in every corner of my mind
As I search for the meaning in this game that we call life,
And it seems to me that I will never find
A possible way to end this strife.
I can see the stars glitter in the black sky,
But they’re out of my reach; Light years away.
And as these monsters haunt me, I can’t help but wonder why
They have taken up residence in my mind to stay.
Darkness calls my name again.
This artificial happiness fades fast.
It seems as though darkness is my only loyal friend;
The only relationship I have that will last.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
Leaves rustle and branches quiver,
As the breeze of uncertainty
Runs through the air like a river;
Shaking and quaking the tall oak tree.
The bark is covered with cracks
And freckled with notches,
Much like the skin of the wise and the old,
Even though the tree is lacking in age,
For only eighteen times
Have the leaves fallen in the cold.
And even though we know the leaves will always fall,
They will certainly return in the spring.
The tree lives its life answering nature’s call,
Being a source of life for every living thing.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
You, you’re just a picture
Taking up space on my wall.
Your color and brilliance is fading.
You’re not an original after all.
And I can’t say I’m surprised
Cause all your talk is so cheap
Portraying this image of lies
That benefit you like you’re looking to reap.
Cause that’s all you are to me.
Just a picture on my wall,
And that’s all you’ll ever be to me.
Just a picture. That’s all.
You, you’re just a picture
With no soul, and you can’t understand
That you were made by hands so bitter
And you dragged me out with you to no man’s land.
Well, I’m back and you hang on my wall now,
Cause it’s all you know to do.
And maybe you’ll figure out your life somehow,
And maybe I’m just a picture to you.
Cause that’s all you are to me.
Just a picture on my wall,
And that’s all you’ll ever be to me.
Just a picture. That’s all.
You lived your life in vain,
Hiding all your pain from the world.
You pushed everyone away,
And now you’re on your own.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
You are the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
You are the soft thud of the door
As I slip out, unnoticed.
You are the breath I take, emerging from the frigid ocean,
And the light I illuminate upon my arrival home on the blackest of nights.
You are not, however the electricity,
Or lack thereof when the power surges in the midst of an essay.
You may be pleased to know that you are not that song
Overplayed on the radio that never fails to irk me.
You are also not the piu right before the mezzo forte,
For that is me. I am the piu preceding the mezzo forte.
I am the spare tire on the underside of your car,
And I am also the F sharp to the B natural, a few cents flat.
It may not surprise you that I am the negative sign you forgot to distribute,
And the feeling of snow seeping in through your boots.
You are not the feeling of snow seeping in a pair of boots.
You would like to know that you are the smell of a sharpie,
Uncapped for the first time, and you are the excitement of using it first.
You are even the taste of catching the first snowflake of the winter,
And eating the first s’more of the summer.
You are the chap stick, found in the pocket of the pants in the hamper,
Or perhaps even the twenty dollar bill in the other.
But I am the learner’s permit that went through the wash.
I am also the candle whose wick is drowned in its own wax.
I am not, however the smell of the decaying leaves.
You are the smell of the decaying leaves.
You will now and forever be the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC