Imagine if life was just a cup of tea -

So simple,
leaves steeping in the steaming water.
Only to spread what they have
to the joys of all around.

But instead,
our lives are just large scale mitosis.
Splitting between emotions out of our control.

What starts as a seed, roots deep in the ground,
not a flower, nor a tree, but a mountain.
Growing taller than we give can see.

See, mountains are just like our lives.
Starting deep in the ground,
yet growing far out of eyesight.

And, still, when lightning strikes
that simple, vulnerable point.
It all collapses around us.

And we are left,
alone,
in the rubble that was once something great.

A heartbeat is all it takes
to turn on the lights.

I’m grounded but unable to be steady.
Up. Down. Up. Down.

I’m curving the world around me.
I’m as dense as I’ll ever be.

I can't open the doors.
I'm in a foggy mist of hallucinations.

I’m caught up in the clouds.
But the ground is above me.

My heart keeps beating.
But the lights are always off.

Busy, much to busy.
To even have time to write, to think.
"Work, more work."
Never ending work.
I can't even find the time to remember what I was working on,
or to remember what I was trying to remember.
But still, I find time in the day.
Time to write on the walls,
connect dots,
Daw constellations that present shapes of things I cannot be,
things I cannot see.
And yet still,
I'm much to busy to think, much to busy to breath.
It's like I'm caught in a lucid dream,
yet I'm awake.
And although these constellations may pose a problem,
to my mental health,
they represent something greater, larger.
I bigger part of me,
that I may finally get to see.

“Stop!”
“Thief!”

You steal me away,
when you want me.
Throw me away,
when you don’t.

You feed me a bone.
Then stand on the clouds,
and look down upon me.

“Stop!”
“I’ve had enough.”

And I can’t even see you.
You hide yourself beneath your gold,
beneath the shade.
The shade of the trees,
is where you laugh,
drowning out the world.

And you ask if I am feeling well,
As if it is a card in your game.
And feed me tales,
about hiding beneath the ground,
burning in my fire.
And why do you want to burn?
Or talk about being burned?
When all I see,
is dying.

“Stop!”

“Thief!”

“I’ve had enough."

Water turning.
Bells ringing.
Wind Blowing.

Stop.

"Drip,
Drop."

"Drip,
Drop."

He whispers in my ear.

Crawling. Just looking for food.

Stop..

She screams.

As he gets to close with his
"friendly weapon"
She hides.

"Friend" is all he wants.

Alone is what he seems.

Dead.

Is what he is.

Following the signs
trees smell of cinnamon.
Sweet.
Brisk.
But faint.
His breath throws
crystals onto my tongue
I have my own taste
of the gods' nectar.
Sweet.
Brisk.
And strong.
But my shadow hides
and I'm lost.
But happier than ever
dancing in Angels' tears
to the sound of their music.
Yet the shadow returns:
to dance with me,
following my steps,
one in one
as if we were whole.
I fall, and my shadow with me.
To feel the skin of the world,
and to enjoy the tears,
the music,
the nectar,
and the cinnamon
from the trees.
Sweet.
Brisk.
Faint.
Yet strong.

This displacement
seems infinite,
as my tongue
ties itself
in knots.

My eyes are blind,
but my mind is dancing.

But it begins to rain.

The Slaughter itself,
is inevitable.

I am just a seed.

Lifeless.

Ready to bloom
into another cycle.

Where I become
tainted
with the blood of my soul
whom seldom bleeds.

I leave a trail
drop
by drop
of pieces
of a puzzle
we call life.

Stained are
the clouds around me
with the words
I can never find..