something isn't nothing
I don't like it when people consider the minute nothing
I don't like it at all
something is wrong with that belief
to consider the small unimportant
the microscopic non-existent
a figment of pure imagination
a non sequitur of time
as if size itself is the only factor of what is...
dismissing reality is a fatal flaw
for when that insignificant nothing
replaces your meaningless parts with rot
turns your own body against you
discards the fabric of your meaningless existence thread by thread into the null--
when your state triggers the process of decay
slowly killing you--
while the residual effects trigger the mechanisms of the minds of those around you to start discarding your future--
while every memory becomes thinner
when you start fading
walking your own path to becoming emptiness
to become the thing you dismiss
to become dismissed
but slowly enough
to realize you want to live
to have that thing you didn't believe...
you will beg for something
and receive true nothing
Mmm... My mind teeters between the meaning of life at the micro level and its effect on the macro.
"You love her but she doesn't love you back."
"Love is an illusion, you know?"
An illusion of what?
Every illusion has its shadow.
It's a counterpart of something real is it not?
So, what's your point?
"I'm saying it's all fake, an abstraction of the mind."
If you know what is fake, then surely you can tell me what's real.
Unless you are just wasting my time on your theoretical insight on life?
--You can't just go around making asinine statements on things if you don't have all your facts in order; people are bound to find you simply delusional.
Even if I am mistaken, don't tell me what I felt is something akin to, but not, love.
You're only stretching the truth; not dismissing it.
Love, adoration, fondness, endearment:
all sentiments of the same body; the same flood of thoughts.
The only discernable distinctions are how they are expressed from the heart and what catalyzed them.
And those distinctions are very real.
I made no mistake with my attraction, just a decision.
carpet o'er meadows of melancholy thy colour stolen from Sun on high
thou art yellow as shimmering as a king's opulence
have thy therapeutic aroma waft o'er hills,
carry through valley and village
withhold through lonely night
as almsgiving to our shadows a portion of light
though thou harken to whispers on gentle breath
let no squall of vehemence bend thy stalk
nor tine words of restless tongues harrow thy root
the averted gaze of bittered souls wither thy petals
have upon thine own crown bestowed a radiance of resilience
to illuminate obscured truth
and mend thus the hearts of willful sufferers
Needed to write again. Picked a word and ran with it.
Today I conclude
the last chapter of my life
but certainly not the final.
And for a moment
the world stood idle...
Contemplating my new future,
I cross the horizon
where retrospect inspires
My perspective has changed,
tweaked by others' aspirations.
Something grew inside me
by deep introspections
and as the clock ticked further
my resolve became firmer.
It tickles my soul
at how silly it seems
that I was once just
a clueless little seed.
But now I am planted
in the soil of my dreams,
ready to take root
and spring up with the reeds.
My doubts begin to wan
as I rise with a new dawn.
I pause to tell myself
I've no sins to absolve,
I must believe it to be true
to affirm my resolve.
Was a poem written for a new year's contest a long time ago. I thought it would be befitting to dust it off considering how close the new year is now
you are a blood stain on my conscience
I cannot clean you out of my head
I have washed this mind
a thousand times
and now the water is dirtied with red
sullied with residue
from the tides of time
covering my thoughts with merlot grime
rubbed into my grain
adhering to me like glue to dirt
I had picked at the scars until they hurt
all the while chanting
cursing your name
praying to overwrite these thoughts
begging to be brainwashed
I've been in the rain
I've given others my time
time lost to the chance that being in the open would make me feel as so
would tan my pale demeanor
give my loneliness something to hold
turn my fear to boon
I now hold that that is not the case
for true nature is always an honest monster
how could I be so naive?
was it not the cruel world's air that sent me into hiding?
I should return to my dark comfort
my cave of paranoia
the only friend that always welcomes me
understands my need to be alone
to be fragile in a safe cell
a perfect excuse
my reason to be recluse