it begins as a series of unfounded berations on everything; which in itself is a statement against nothing.
what really was needed was a place to begin.
there will be the ones who are forever lost in the maze of one's drunkenness.
in a way she feels like a drunken thought. spurted out without thought and then carried over to sobriety.
together with the ***** stained denims and the borrowed t-shirts (were they borrowed alright)
she can't be churned into the washer like the rest
she's out there burying herself in deep resentment
because she can not forgive me
she gave herself that disease when she refused to grant forgiveness for sins committed in anger
since when, though, has the truth ever been an offense?
cuts deep
deeper that the most merciful lies one can serenade her with
we can not have anything if we refuse to confront what is real
but ke?
what's done is done.
these berations on nothing itself
are all that is left
most of these things remain unexplained
the story in itself is synthesizing, everyday, unwittingly. unauthoured, playing itself out like water lazily floating down a river
towards a fantastic waterfall
or right into the mouth of a gaping, yearning sinkhole - where it will not die, but steadily keep propagating itself beneath all observance and veneration
and perhaps sip out from a well-meaning spring somewhere deep in the uncharted lands
it's like that. it should be like that. just as all else is what it is.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
A pile of dead embers
Glow
In the void
Of my empty heart.
Black fire burns eternally in my body
The memories we were yet to make
A time on the edge of forever in
Which we spoke of life and things to be.
Black flames race through my veins leaving me
Cold and afraid.
This cold fire that once was the beauty you inspired
Sustains me
and keeps oblivion away.
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
Like a pathetic attempt at
Grabbing visions of beautiful
Colour, beautiful violence
Of rainbows dancing in the sky, tingling the belly of the horizon
Lost in the glory of happiness.
Placed in blinkers and thrown into the search.
And it all completes
When all that is held are memories.
At last fake hope goes away
When lost in the maze of regret...
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
I have buried you and filled your
hole with dirt
And on your grave I've planted
This ink.
One day a tree will sprout and on its leaves they will read:
'here lies memories unmade
here lies many things unsaid
here lies a lie
here lies me too, inside
with me is the man I was waiting to become'
I have buried you though you never lived
For now you are dead, dad.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC