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cliollistic Apr 17
a swirling mass of thoughts
a feeling of incompletion
and a sense
of no direction

spending nights awake
letting consciousness fade
and all days
go to waste

held in a stasis
for my catharsys
cliollistic Apr 17
swaying side to side
trapped in this lullaby
frozen in time

the winds are cold as ice
like the fog in the sky
with no end in sight

not feeling fine
but happy
to fly

in this melancholic
state of mind
cliollistic Apr 16
do it do it do it
i can't
right now right now
i won't
don't stop don't stop
no more
weak weak weak
i know
cliollistic Apr 14
the poets are dead
they say loud and clear
so everybody can hear
and let sink in the dread

the poets are dead
they whisper in hidden
so the words can stricken
and let it charge ahead

the poets are dead
i think to myself
the poets are dead

the poets are dead
and as long as i can tell
the poets are dead
cliollistic Apr 14
Saltwater rushes over warm sands,
refreshing the heat.
I part the ocean with my hands
while trying not to weep.
This memory;
so sweet,
so far away,
so faded,
my last good memory.
Winds still bring the ocean breeze
to me
wherever I be and
warm tears rushes over cheeks.
cliollistic Apr 13
I long for love.
Don't we all?
But this is different, I don't want to be loved.
I want to love.
Isn't that the same thing?
To be loved is to perceived,
to be known,
to be seen,
to be held.
I don't want any of those things,
I'm terrified of that.
To love is to perceive,
to know,
to see,
to hold.
I want all of those things,
I ache for that.
But to have one, you need the other.
I'd rather have none.
cliollistic Apr 12
I hate the city, all the noises all the smells, the heat scattering through the asphalt and making me choke. I hate the futurists, God I hate them, stupid as they were, thinking the city had something great to give them, thinking the noise, the heat, the pain, the screams, the sweat, the feeling of a thousand bodies packed together, had some love to give them.
At least they were constant in their thoughts, in where their loyalties lie. Not like me, I'm like water, mutable, never in one place and never feeling the same way. I make noise too, but it's not loud, it's a murmur a tiny thing that you could miss if you weren't paying enough attention. I'm cool, refreshing, the sun tries to touch me but it can never warm all my extremities.
I'm also alone, like a stream tucked away in a hidden corner of a forgotten forest. I could never be as big as the ocean, as demanding, as present and imposing, and I don't want to.
It's simple really, it's the law of nature: I'm small, cool and quiet therefore I hate everything that is big, warm and loud.
Opposites do not attract, that's the ugliest lie ever told.
God, I hate the futurists
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