Curious bright light, like insect burn close to the core,
no one knows why we do this. Perhaps, it’s instinct,
how funny, an insect’s instinct that we share,
funny from a distance, but in experience – complete cosmic significance.
Nothing is more important, you are what I revolve around,
constantly fly close to the attractive warmth, oh – warmth,
no one can remove emotion, fire, burning ****** desire,
teenager’s fantasy, obscene embarrassment that makes us young,
with imaginative and over expressed feelings towards light,

Why do we fly so close to dangerous sun?
It can harm us, so, what must we do but dream,
raise expectations, deny faults, dream of ideal outcome,
outsiders watch; they snigger, laugh and even pretend we don’t exist,
they don’t understand the stupid phases, constant rambling,
internal beating up, bleeding from our organs within our soft skin,
they can’t see us from the inside, only from our youthful frame,
more important that life, this is our life, memories will be shattered,
make the little things last, they say, we don’t listen.

We’ll live forever, time is irrelevant, merely a trick of society,
as time is the destroyer of passion, and pure ecstasy,
so fly forever. Towards the bright LSD steam that emits electrical glow,
fly forever. Finding different ways of explaining its attractive aura,
sensual smells and touches arouse us, grasping for more,
so close, you push further, we are virgins finding ourselves,
exploring our bodies, yours and mine, all is new and exciting,
explosion of overriding passion, spilling around our hips,
naked with awkward embrace.

We are so close to the fire; dangerous and beautiful fire,
as close as I can be, to true desire,
thrusting and propelling, spinning uncontrollably,
mind is hazy and drunk,
feeling so right, feeling so good, feeling so,
description goes on, until hit the glass, border between pain,
though, the collision stings, it does not ****,
like fence, impossible to cross, it protects but denies,
fly away.

The cycle continues, until we wise up,
learn to avoid the light, grow legs and walk,
no more flying, no soaring and freedom,
you walk away, leaving it behind,
but as you turn, glance behind your tired shoulder,
the fire still burns it’s eternal glow, trapped in restricting glass.

Here. What now?
Driven by swift passion and desire,
driven by destined taxi,
that chooses its own road.

Steering close to the edge,
closer and closer,
until attractive embrace towards the danger,
and unknown, pulls in with violent tug,

Finally – fall,
Tumble down, in drunk state of mind,
unawareness of destination,
Just fall, and fall, and fall,

Until you land on hellish ground,
like new born child, you have no place here,
direction and time are  non-existent,
but you must go on,

Like new born, take first steps,
they’re always the worst,
sharp gravel piercing tender skin,
scars remain on toes, for world to see,

Once rhythm starts,
feel accepted and comfortable,
but wear a disguise,
so they can’t see it’s me.

I often glace towards them,
at the peak, I see them laugh,
together, hand in hand – united,
high on ecstasy and joy.

Here. What now?
What I wanted, to be so sure,
yet – be so very wrong,
no turning back, this is where I belong.

Unhappy on both realms,
bitter boredom never overcome,
individuality illusions, still to be found,
not happy both up with them, and down here.

So where shall I plant my roots?
Perhaps, it’s not the destination,
but the journey of my fall.

Moonlit and sweaty, leaning limp across a tall imposing column,
the contrasting industrial concrete, with tender skin,
sticking with strong attraction, never wanting to leave,
isolation, for no good reason, but its own,

Make way back, contortion out balanced by darkness,
footsteps tap lightly; grow in gravity, until heavy,
heavy, heavy, it is hard to hold upwards,
imposing, dangerous, better than I.

My tongue swells and hardens within saliva infested cave,
cannot speak, don’t want to, instead, let words fly,
soar past throat and spill out without a sound,
it runs as fast as legs move, escaping reality,

make way, it destroys everything within its peripherals, ahead, the sights it sees,
it’s what we do not see that we fear the most, the unknown, that’s obvious,
I see them, they fear me, nothing of their own ventures,
they keep one eye open, flinch at the sight of me.

Close the open door, submerge my bones in darkness, and feed on my sadness,
black again, everything black, black the air, black the night,
black the soul, black the feel and texture, meaningless,
gibberish, matter of opinion, cocky insight,

whatever it is it fuels the hate, black the hate, so powerful thrusting impulse,
pushing furiously against the empty cage, until no more, no more,
death, inevitable death awaits, so why do we pull back,
when nothing is within our empty – cage.

Cage, in which our heart beats steady (or fast), depending on thrill,
cage, that contains the ***** and monstrous, unknown fear,
cage, in which we are protected from water dwellers,
cage, yes, cage, whatever it be.

I lie subconsciously between worlds, path that leads nowhere,
darting across plush mattress, my mind is on separate track,
thinking, thinking, of what is meant to be said,
and what should have been said,

But come early morning,
wash out sadness, sorrow, lonely,
feel again, yet, isolated from modern views,
start again, moonlit this time, feeling the dark, black pit of sweat.

Floating, boundless, free.
Not looking around,
keeping my eyes shut
I don't like surprises.

Trying to live currently,
attempting not to think ahead
and wonder "oh - now what
should I write that sounds

deep and soulful and sweet?"
Honesty doesn't seem that
harmful when placed on paper.
In fact, nothing really does.

All my dreams, fears and
fetishes are mine alone.
I own this paper, this pen
between my fingertips.

I'm in control.
I'm not.
Constantly float, boundless, free,
sometimes I daydream so violently.

I experience terror when I realise -
I am conscious.
I am living.
All alone.

So I want to write a poem
that is both intriguing and beautiful
but I posses no inspiration, nor imagination
at this point.

So I decided to write what I am
experiencing here and now.
My mind is empty of thoughts,
my daydreams become reflections
rather than isolated bubbles of inner peace.

Now I am wondering if I can keep going.
I am scared I will throw this away,
forget about this moment...
and that one,
and that one.

Fear is a part of life but
I don't want it to be.
I would rather be ignorant than
flinch every time my mind wanders
towards death.

Thoughts are so temporary,
I feel unstable and I need closure.
I guess that is how everyone lives,
on their toes.

I just want to disappear
and forget
and ponder
and never lose inspiration again.

On and on and on,
Life keeps up,
but we can't, so what now?

On and on and on,
Life makes plans,
but we have no say, so what now?

On and on and on,
Life gets high,
but we stay low, so what now?

On and on and on,
Life crashes down,
and we follow, so what now?

On and on and on,
Life stops,
and so do we, so what now?

On and on and on,
Life is lived,
so what now?

Like the churning of sharp bristles in the pit of my stomach
sharp twang of isolation at my gut
I cannot see further than my shallow emotions
broken, shattered horizon ahead.