Descartes and Isaac Beeckman,
Monsieur de Chandoux
and Jacob Golius
are talking

Monsieur de Chandoux
asks if Descartes will attend his next lecture
and Descartes replies: “I don’t think so”
And Descartes disappears

Life

People are irate,
they sealed their own fate,
locked up, is the golden gate.
Nobody knows just why,
we all must say good-bye,
falling from the darkened sky.
Locked in a small room,
all you can smell is doom,
what if life will never resume.
Scratching and a crawling,
life can be so appalling,
why must we always be stalling.
Feeling like subjects,
wondering why life is so complex,
maybe we're all just special effects.
No journey, just a destination,
can't even turn the station,
death is becoming the latest sensation.
As for me, I believe in love,
no need to push and shove,
is there really a crying dove.
I don't believe in God,
I'm the only non fraud,
it's me you all should applaud.
Things can turn around,
just need to break it down,
then you too can wear the crown.
Together we can make things right,
no need to fuss and fight,
lets make the darkness seem bright.
I actually have no single clue,
over the cuckoo's nest I flew,
life is something, I just thought I knew.

Deep down, I'm just scared that I'll one day be old with a cigarette in my hand, and not a soul to light me up.

And glaring death into bitter night,
I left my heart on the stone altar,
a peace offering to shadowy figures
clothed in tears and linen,
that they may receive it
and be pleased.

I ran,
I flew down the mountain side,
wind in my ears and
blood on my hands,
hysterical laughter ringing in
the hollows of my skull.

At the foot of the mountain,
centered in the valley,
a well stood, stoney eyed
and heartless
(the well was me and I was the well)
waiting for the rushing noise
to hush and
the shadow gods to be quieted
by the pumping of a deadened heart.

My red tinged eyes
gazed forward, downward,
into the ever sloping well,
and all was quiet.
The blood dripped scarlet pearls
from my hollowed chest,
and after an eternity the splash echoed
from the walls of the cold well.

The sound reverberated
through air cold as ice,
anchoring me in its grip,
soft as a kiss.
I fell.

I let the echo pull me
into a well's unbroken water,
eyelids forced open over empty sockets,
wind burping into my cheeks,
forcing me into an unforgiving smile.

the way mental health is treated really bothers me,
you shouldn’t want to be
depressed
or anxious
because you think its trendy or fun.
disorders are not adjectives you can just spew out at your leisure,
they are real things that hurt people and ruin lives.

you shouldn’t fear telling your friends,
your parents,
your lover,
that you might have a serious problem,
that you are worried about yourself.

you’re not sick or broken,
you might need help but that doesn’t make you a bad person,
right?

you shouldn’t be scared to see a doctor,
to see someone that can help you,
simply because you don’t want to be characterized as:
"they just couldn’t handle the pressure",
"why are you doing this to us?",
"you just want attention",
the walking freak show.

with all your faults,
character flaws,
every cell and every misconnected neuron,
you are still a human being.

you can find me in old picture frames, hidden
in a box at the bottom of your basement.
you can find me in telephone booths, scouring
my pockets to find the meaning of change.
you can find me in the font of signed birthday cards, stylized
and nonsensical.
you can find me in your ashtray, waiting
to be reborn.
you can find me at the bottom of your coffee cup, a sludge
of accumulated words that fell out of your mouth
each time you go in for another sip.
you can find me in the pages of your youth, smiling
at the illusion of time.
you can find me in the lyrics to each song
that come on in your car as you drive, alone at night
that make you think of how we were.
you can find me underneath the carpet, a stain
that refuses to come out no matter how hard you scrub.
you can find me at the beginning of your dream, camouflaged
with scenes of sirens, snakes and skeletons singing lullabies
that make you forget what you dreamt of when you finally awaken.
you can find me through the eyelet on your door, as i float
above your head the moment you consider opening it.
you can find me in every embrace, every kiss, every promise
you choose to let fade from your needle-pointed memory.
you can find me in your shoe, a rock
that makes each audacious step feel uncomfortable.
you can find me in the ditch, roadkill
that quickly passes you by as you mumble a
“what was that?” to no one in particular.
you can find me beneath the apologies you didn't mean
and the iloveyous you forgot to say.
you can find me amidst the scattered shards of glass
that scour the linoleum floor from the glass of water
that you dropped in a bout of thirst at midnight.
you can find me underneath your pillow case, whispering
reminders like sweet love songs for the self.
the pieces i have left are ripe and over-cooked,
i can only resign myself to the fact
that you may never choose
to look.