A yellow converse tied securely to my left foot A purple converse tied securely to my right foot Dangle on the sharp edge of the moon facing the flickering side of the sun - His hands are turning to stone Scaling up his arms grows the shards of unsung remarks Branded by the markings of a comprehend-er And not that of a creator Signified by a Turnover of the wrist To reveal Calloused palms scarring over worn ambitions - And as the her face turns away All at once She rounds the corner of a brick wall The sun rotates to be unseen behind Venus Her body is planets away - it seems But there is a light that never goes out - For in the years to follow Even in shadows her memory will glow Lighting my face to varying degrees Dependent upon the luna(r)cy of my mind
breathing techniques cannot salvage my mentality dry - cold - gales whisking shards of icicles jet stream frozen oxygen into my pink lungs and as nature’s razors draw red blood my capacity for speaking matches the bleeding of a headspace drowning in black ink - The quills of my fingertips have been continuously dipped Into the reservoir of dye crested by the hole in my head - a yellow sun rises anew day to cast light on these visions a red rose withers on concrete of unwalked opportunity a orange three-pronged leaf exists in this dissension ambition will either flourish to match a perpetuating green or decompose to return compost the dirt of earth
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the parameters of my body.
No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’ I witness dates and feel as an apprentice of such a trade might an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me
Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity Childhood is laced in linens of silk Soft-spoken words and Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility
Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor Depravity seems to chain my soul which leads to a Resolution in pixelation due to a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right
My friends make me happy but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty & half-full one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes for My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation heavy on the mind light keystrokes
Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma i ask myself What good is it? To be thoughtful Yet have no action What good is it? To fantasize Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation What good is it? To be dramatic Yet have no one at your performance
I do understand what it means to ‘be’
Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks - lacking peaks - As I continue to lay under clothes line Wrapped in a melody of melancholy
But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’
My mind feels as a lemon candy might, sour at first bite - hollow on the inside, then gone Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
What photos must I shoot How many cigarettes must I smoke
It is scary, but - I want to embody the things which destroy minds
Summer vibes feel like radiation
Use this alcohol to eradicate The proposition - that I will be ‘okay’
My phone is on airplane mode
My ambition is floating - as a feather might - Down to the depths
I cannot finish my own sentences
Bury my expectation with my religion
And it’s funny Because I have resolved my mind to avoid romantic confrontation But, alas - I do day-dream Of a girl’s face & hair - for it has appeared in my dreams four times And I awake to Deja-Vu as her face appears in conscious frames So…
I can imagine & I can see, but - they have become one in the same Could not fantasize asking Your hand in mine
Oh how I wish to cry To sob in any light so long as you are in sight Someone to reassure me, that - yes “There is an end to the night.”
But I cannot. I suppress it in drives. In music videos. In writing. In self-speaking when I have only me to keep company.
Kick me off the team. I do not know what I need. If I could lead, as I once did.
But I have left concern in the refrigerator With empty bottles & cans Maybe I will return tomorrow to salvage the cents of my malleable integrity Won’t you reliquinish me of it ?
For I have sipped the poison of honesty Regretfully it tastes like honey Lustful - Fleeting - Sugary - Intoxicating