I knew you.
you're an artist but
the words you blow and bend into being
knock me to the floor
to shatter
as a glittering landscape
of venom sinking in deep
twisting my veins
accustomed to the numb ache of doubt
the remembered you
is brittle from evaporated trust.
the masterpiece of others falling
is your fuel.
needing the heat
you **** us all dry.
you're an artist
you can make
anything.
So why
make me feel small?

I've heard perception is everything
Though depth was never really mine
Surface life of a girl dragged under
Seeped in irony, fall in line

Maybe my reality is a compromise
(Though I **** sure never will)
A necessary concession to get through this moment
Every new second brings new things to feel

Appearances are the most convincing
Which emotions do you fake?
Waking life can't really be so nightmarish
**** this give and take

To help others is to reap
what you have sown

The answers they
will find may be

YOUR OWN


SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 25, 2014

What if our thoughts were controlled
and original thought was all but done
if it were illegal to ask questions
for example this one

what if there was no future or past
and only the simultaneous
time was only another tool
like a meter stick or others, miscellaneous

or what if those with life
instead of just being
break away from the grid
giving their own life meaning

without fear of their ideas being chased
hunted down, gathered up and erased
built up in great heaping pyres
and ceremoniously fed to the fires
  
people could extend their ideas
through-out the ages
merely by putting their words
on a few blank pages

influencing people
generations apart
simply by creating
a little bit of art

Well here I am
once again.
Sitting here at 3 A.M.
And there's no escape
to the way I feel.
No escape to the way
you made me feel.
You haunt me
in every possible way.