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B L Jun 14
My tides move in waves
Of reactive oscillation.
Bound to your momentum
By threads of gravitation.

Gravity, like rainfall . . .
I, never yours,
And you, never mine.

Each day I etch a tally,
And try to act surprised
That another day
Has come and gone
In which the sun forgot to shine.
B L Feb 22
I've lived the kind of pain they write about;
In the tales of heroes, who came and went without
Salvation or celebration,
And, instead, became close friends of doubt.

When luck leaves your side,
And there's no one left watching . . .
There is no martyrdom.
No heaven to fall from. No damnation.
                Just nothing.
                Nothing and no one.

But I won't let myself succumb
To the temptations of self-righteous certainty,
False justifications, or egotistical self-mutilation . . .
                      Just to bleed on those who lay
                      Below my lowly elevation.
                     Not like you.
                     I am not made like you.

No longer, will I distort my own view
And lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.

               It's true.

               I am worthless *******,
               and even I can hardly stand it
               when I speak about myself.
But this time . . .
It's about more than me.
And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth,
That I was given and didn't earn,
On those who showed me how to learn
               And to never become like you.

Yes,
I am judgmental and self-loathing.
I am selfish and I am wrong.
I am naive, and strung out and strung along.

                                But I
                                  am not made
                                             like you.

                                             I am strong.
B L Feb 14
I think I've always been alone . . .
At least, as long as I can remember.
But there's a part of me,
                       that still feels so connected --
To something near the source,
                        At the core of somewhere true.
Where we exist without our existence's limitations.
                        Where duality begins to mean overlap,
And both fiction and fact,
                        One and yet another,
Things like "this" and "that"
                        Are the same, still . . .
Innocently unseparated, in this place near to creation.

Maybe it's just my brain . . .
                        I do have a habit of creating dualities.
"Together, or apart? No," I think.
                       More like doubting infallibility.

So when I say I've always been alone,
I have to ask myself:

                                              "Have you really?"

"Of course you haven't been.
But who you are right now,
is no longer that you . . .
At least . . . not fully."

                                      "So, if I was alone then,
                                       Does that mean that I
                                       might not be any longer?"

"Oh, no."
I explained back to myself,
"I think you misunderstood me."
"It's just . . .
You'll never truly know,
Until there's nothing and nobody."


That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,
            When you're off in your own head.
At least I won't be alone in my regret,
                         When I'm among the dead.
I'll find community in that.  
Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected!
The place where maybe two of myself is enough
                      to make just one of me feel,
Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,
                      In a place that's neither there, nor here . . .
At least, there, if I don't feel connected,
                     To myself, I may feel near.
B L Feb 14
My reality bends, but doesn't break . . .
            Oh! how I love to watch her shake.
I love to watch her struggle,
              as she fights not to crumble
                      Into the void that she creates.

All the while, she's subtracting,
                   Extending, then retracting . . .
She functions as a prism,
         But it's not light that she's refracting.

She exhales in waves of reverb and vibrating oscillation,
        She creates all that imitates
        In the shadow of divinity,
                                                As she balances the equation.

Giving birth to the chaos, she finds replication in order . . .
As the random escapes, and attempts to distort her.
She's graceful and strong, yet falls apart when out of step.
Never stopping or regaining a second,
Nor a chance to catch her breath.
So in awe we observe her,
The birth-giver to grace, in a dance of life and death.
B L Sep 2018
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
She finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees crack and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
B L Sep 2018
I've been trying to see the in-between;
The overlap in separation...
                            I want to see what can't be seen.
                            I want to embody imagination.

"That's a tough way to go." They say,
                    "You shouldn't try so hard to know."
But a river is a tough thing to stop,
                                   So I just let the water flow.

Because you don't come upon an idea...
You always start from within it,
Both springing forth and unfolding,
From their inception, until it's finished.

Your ideas, as you are, are intricately connected
To a place where no thing exists without a purpose...
No answer without a question.

The question and answer, you see, exist in simultaneity...
Born from the same concept; they are stuck together, forever, genetically.
B L Sep 2018
With an audible sigh...
                 I curse the world to gain some clarity.
Things weren't so black or white before...
                                           The laughter, tears --
At once, a sad and laughable disparity.

Like washed-out sadness,
                     I'll make it hard to judge my smile.
"The sun may fade these colors," I say,
                  "But they'll be gone for just a while."


I exhale...
                                              ... And I miss you.
                              Like the first time I felt rain;
                                     Or sat alone in the dark,
            My prayers eclipsed by just your name.

I longed for your shine
And the warmth within your Sol.
But your clouds gave way to Luna...

                                                       ...And I left.  
                             Still halfway short of whole.

For now, I'll do what I can to force these
                              clouds back over the moon.
Because even in depravity,
                                       Or lonesome solitude,
I find the comfort that is darkness...
                         And in the darkness I find you.

Still, I hope you feel the thunder.
Or that the light leads your way through.
I can't make this darkness bright, but still,
I think... If I can't discern what's true...
I hope you laugh, at least, in irony.
I hope you smile, at the storm...
                    That casts its shadow just for you.

I've found the lightning doesn't last,
And the thunder comes too soon.
So alone, in solidarity, I will fight my fate
To be construed...
                                          Against myself,
As the answers to my questions' echo --
               reverberating in an empty room.
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