Different Place Different Time
Same script, Same lines
Lonely souls and one alone
Bound in Breadth, but not in depth
Similar in Vein but not in kind
but Similar enough in my mind
The math says I'm bound to find others
Others who resonate and hear my frequency
"It's a numbers game"
I tell myself-
Over and over until I go under.
There must be others
Erased by the system and from Existence;
the cracks multiply and leaks grow
until their tsunami is contained in teacup.
But what if outliers are still syncratic
Why do I leak aporia over and over again?

“I'll find them"
I say as I come across another corpse
The blood leaking out of the open wounds inflicted upon them.
Turning their intellect into a poison
that eats them inside out.  
They're gone now (blanched from existence),
I look around
And see the bones on which
My “exceptionalism” stands.
Unnoticed by most
but I sense their ghosts in the spaces that should be filled.  
The same system that killed my kin,
demands I cannibalize them
to sell me as a relic - a reminder of what was
But I never forget - or forgive - a murderer.

All that glitters is not gold
But beyond the waking world
Wonderland calls to me
I find myself entranced
by these glimmers of warmth in my mind.
Before the bitterness of reality took over
These memories of ghosts long past
are sweetened with vulnerability
I savor them again and again
Unable or perhaps unwilling
To separate myself from their thrall

Not yet plant or earth but soon.
Not yet runes or sin immune

In this room, and as my tomb,
My voice, only speaks as blooms:

Maybe then the creatures and eaters
Can make a home out of this unbeliever

For maybe I perceived or perhaps I was the deceiver
But I hope that in death,
I could be their redeemer
So when the weavers weave their homes
All along my bones,
My tryst with the reaper
Are where the feasts were.

Thinking and writing
and writing about thinking
While sitting and thinking  
And thinking while sitting
about the feelings
(I feel)
when sinking in the seeking.

It hit me the other day
Not the smell of fresh tea
Nor the steam that hissed out of the spout
Spraying droplets into the air
But of the infinitesimal
Interconnected this of it all.

Even in this teapot a small ecosystem brews
Unaware of its function
I stared at my own reflection
And back it stared
It's eyes glassy
Or was that the sheen of the lacquer?
The smooth ceramic just was
yet my reflection was anything but
In it's simplicity it made a stranger out of me
I am a stranger to myself it seems
And yet I must be a teapot to others
Simplicity or duplicity
Equally deceptive yet difference in kind.
So let's drink tea you and I.

breathe out
can you feel it?
The sense that youre being strangled by your skin
Oh but you try to shed like its serpentine scales
but you are still mortal, yet always a liar

Breathe in
Like a high speed car chase in the quiet of night
the thoughts keep coming unbidden
You're famished for thoughts other than the ones that consume you.
They cut through every conversation, every silence, every core of your being,
until you're struggling,
gasping for a moment,
where being is enough,
Rather than the pinging in the back of your mind
the Thoughts don't stop
Thinking holds them at bay
Yet they remain

Breathe out
Don't give in
Don't dive into the darkness of your mind
Don't recede in
Don't
Don't
They keep coming
the thoughts blur into each other
like the haze of headlights on a highway

Stop
Don't Think
Don't Feel
If I think it through will they leave?
all I do is think yet the feelings trail down my face

Breathe ou-
...ah....
... .... ... now I have no air