Faded memory
Of warm light
And entrancing laughter
And conversation
Desiccated,
Devoured
By rusty decisions and
Time,
Eroded by weeping skies,
Banished behind
Locked doors and
velvet curtains—
Folding into myself
To keep out the cold;
The silence left in place of
Muffled laughter,
Drowning,
Suffocating emptiness,
Dissolved by endless grey
When it seems
All these moving parts inside
Are yearning for an escape.
Will there be anybody around
When time takes hold
As my soul drags behind
Out of control,
Bound by friction
Sparking from the ground,
Withering away
Into less than a whisper—
Into a shallow, bloodied river
Taking shape from the slope
Carving the mountainside,
As the eyes that stare
Are blinded
By the despair
Of the clock inside
Drained of its force?
I want to feel happy days
Just once more
Before the trough
Sets the tide
For the last time.
The timer is set,
As my brain stem
Rooted from a seed
Planted
Thoughts with intentions
To undo me.
I’m a lone wolf,
As not I was
But forced to be—
As everyone eventually
All will leave.
For stardust we are,
And will return.
Why not sooner
Than Fate's watch predicted?
What is the point
If a universe vast
Sews insignificance
Into a soul gone astray?
A heartbeat of strain,
An aneurysm of suicide,
A fractured spine,
Of one
Attempting to be Atlas,
As the weight of the world
Collapses,
And nobody is there
To help bear the burden,
To offer a hand.
If to stardust we shall return
In this heat-death wave,
And if alone a life is spent,
The point is not;
It is all just a waste.
Empty spaces are buried
Eventually,
With the inevitability
Of our signs
Which used to have
Highs and lows,
That soon will cancel out
Into a plateau.
Hands creep to fists
Maniacally holding in
The impulse decision.
Terrified with rage,
On the brink of
An out of body escape,
Yet the universe in question remains.
A sky-bent feeling,
As nothing is certain,
And the dirt caves beneath,
Reminiscing in this moment
As the sky fades,
And the fall sets in
Before the break.
Is there anybody out there
Or am I alone
Again in this
Claustrophobic empty box
Lashing out?—
Giving way to the silence
With voices beckoning fists
Against the floor,
The walls.
My cross-eyed head
Tossed into insanity
Virtually proliferating palpability.
Alone fixating around
The point out there
In the stars
Staring down,
As the insignificance begins to ensue
From the audacity to look up,
When feeble heartbeats write
The bombshells battering.
In this eulogy,
I can escape.
For, the loss of one
Is enough to inspire many,
To briefly give rationality
Instead of insanity,
But turbulent tides
Ripple the shoreline
Of friends,
Of family
Gathered at a presence
Now gone
Into the deep
Of Mirkwood,
Where nothing is ever certain.
For, if the path is lost,
Never one
Can find it
Again
Is there anybody out there,
Or is it all a dream—
A simulation,
Or some shattered, harsh reality?
Nothing is certain—
Just bent on hermeneutics
And epistemology,
Wasting the nights and days
As time beelines away.
Hysteria eating the populous
On a sun-burnt earth,
Whose skin begins to drought
As the primary of the system,
The sun,
Begins its red giant phase
Cleaning the slate,
Without a doubt.
Shortening of breath,
There emerges a flame,
Burning all oxygen left
As every breath inevitably
Digs at one’s own grave.
This—
Is the way the world ends,
In an inflexible game
Of end times,
Of no escape.
In night terrors,
This new reality was forged—
The origins of the pain
And the fear
Caught by a thousand
Staring eyes
That used to understand,
And now are turned.
The nightmares
And this rage,
Throughout these years
I have held deep within,
Now depart from the hold
Because the strength I don’t have
To save them
From who I am anymore.
I am a Jinchuriki,
And this demon inside
Is slowly tearing through
Muscle and bones,
Exposing nerves.
I’m bleeding out
With nobody around
Because I can only speak
In euphemisms
To drown out
These signs,
So that I don’t have
To accept the gravity
Before the grave.
The fear swells underneath
As the skin
Becomes marred,
Eventually splitting
Apart
Into
An ‘existence’
That would make
That choice of word
A paradox.
This time,
The sky fades to black
As the loss
Of everything that
Could have been
Slips through my fingers
Like sand
In a hourglass
Ticking away
My last night.
In this room,
Not a lot it would take
To make anyone
Peel out of being tame,
Fill with poison,
Let out screams
That not even the best
Can fake.
With these walls,
Hallucinations take over
When I realize that
The ones I trusted
Put me here
In this place—
This white roomed
Institution.
All I love
Is out of my grasp,
Tormenting my failures
Through the bright light
Of the room,
As if they think
A physical light
Will transpose a mental one.
Is there anybody out there?
Because it won’t be long now
After this soul once admired,
Becomes lustered,
As the signs become chronic,
Philosophy becomes strained,
And the look of denial
Deep in the windows
That stare within
Are enough alone
To bury me;
Will anybody ever really stay?
It’s hard to wake up
From dreams that cast
Such a dark shadow
On even living here.
So I stay up all night
Because what’s the point
Of dreaming
When the only change
Is the calendar day,
When still,
Frames paint the past,
The straitjacket sews the facts,
And nothing’s fine.
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
Faded memory
Of warm light
And entrancing laughter
And conversation
Desiccated,
Devoured
By rusty decisions and
Time,
Eroded by weeping skies,
Banished behind
Locked doors and
velvet curtains—
Folding into myself
To keep out the cold;
The silence left in place of
Muffled laughter,
Drowning,
Suffocating emptiness,
Dissolved by endless grey
When it seems
All these moving parts inside
Are yearning for an escape.
Will there be anybody around
When time takes hold
As my soul drags behind
Out of control,
Bound by friction
Sparking from the ground,
Withering away
Into less than a whisper—
Into a shallow, bloodied river
Taking shape from the slope
Carving the mountainside,
As the eyes that stare
Are blinded
By the despair
Of the clock inside
Drained of its force?
I want to feel happy days
Just once more
Before the trough
Sets the tide
For the last time.
The timer is set,
As my brain stem
Rooted from a seed
Planted
Thoughts with intentions
To undo me.
I’m a lone wolf,
As not I was
But forced to be—
As everyone eventually
All will leave.
For stardust we are,
And will return.
Why not sooner
Than Fate's watch predicted?
What is the point
If a universe vast
Sews insignificance
Into a soul gone astray?
A heartbeat of strain,
An aneurysm of suicide,
A fractured spine,
Of one
Attempting to be Atlas,
As the weight of the world
Collapses,
And nobody is there
To help bear the burden,
To offer a hand.
If to stardust we shall return
In this heat-death wave,
And if alone a life is spent,
The point is not;
It is all just a waste.
Empty spaces are buried
Eventually,
With the inevitability
Of our signs
Which used to have
Highs and lows,
That soon will cancel out
Into a plateau.
Hands creep to fists
Maniacally holding in
The impulse decision.
Terrified with rage,
On the brink of
An out of body escape,
Yet the universe in question remains.
A sky-bent feeling,
As nothing is certain,
And the dirt caves beneath,
Reminiscing in this moment
As the sky fades,
And the fall sets in
Before the break.
Is there anybody out there
Or am I alone
Again in this
Claustrophobic empty box
Lashing out?—
Giving way to the silence
With voices beckoning fists
Against the floor,
The walls.
My cross-eyed head
Tossed into insanity
Virtually proliferating palpability.
Alone fixating around
The point out there
In the stars
Staring down,
As the insignificance begins to ensue
From the audacity to look up,
When feeble heartbeats write
The bombshells battering.
In this eulogy,
I can escape.
For, the loss of one
Is enough to inspire many,
To briefly give rationality
Instead of insanity,
But turbulent tides
Ripple the shoreline
Of friends,
Of family
Gathered at a presence
Now gone
Into the deep
Of Mirkwood,
Where nothing is ever certain.
For, if the path is lost,
Never one
Can find it
Again
Is there anybody out there,
Or is it all a dream—
A simulation,
Or some shattered, harsh reality?
Nothing is certain—
Just bent on hermeneutics
And epistemology,
Wasting the nights and days
As time beelines away.
Hysteria eating the populous
On a sun-burnt earth,
Whose skin begins to drought
As the primary of the system,
The sun,
Begins its red giant phase
Cleaning the slate,
Without a doubt.
Shortening of breath,
There emerges a flame,
Burning all oxygen left
As every breath inevitably
Digs at one’s own grave.
This—
Is the way the world ends,
In an inflexible game
Of end times,
Of no escape.
In night terrors,
This new reality was forged—
The origins of the pain
And the fear
Caught by a thousand
Staring eyes
That used to understand,
And now are turned.
The nightmares
And this rage,
Throughout these years
I have held deep within,
Now depart from the hold
Because the strength I don’t have
To save them
From who I am anymore.
I am a Jinchuriki,
And this demon inside
Is slowly tearing through
Muscle and bones,
Exposing nerves.
I’m bleeding out
With nobody around
Because I can only speak
In euphemisms
To drown out
These signs,
So that I don’t have
To accept the gravity
Before the grave.
The fear swells underneath
As the skin
Becomes marred,
Eventually splitting
Apart
Into
An ‘existence’
That would make
That choice of word
A paradox.
This time,
The sky fades to black
As the loss
Of everything that
Could have been
Slips through my fingers
Like sand
In a hourglass
Ticking away
My last night.
In this room,
Not a lot it would take
To make anyone
Peel out of being tame,
Fill with poison,
Let out screams
That not even the best
Can fake.
With these walls,
Hallucinations take over
When I realize that
The ones I trusted
Put me here
In this place—
This white roomed
Institution.
All I love
Is out of my grasp,
Tormenting my failures
Through the bright light
Of the room,
As if they think
A physical light
Will transpose a mental one.
Is there anybody out there?
Because it won’t be long now
After this soul once admired,
Becomes lustered,
As the signs become chronic,
Philosophy becomes strained,
And the look of denial
Deep in the windows
That stare within
Are enough alone
To bury me;
Will anybody ever really stay?
It’s hard to wake up
From dreams that cast
Such a dark shadow
On even living here.
So I stay up all night
Because what’s the point
Of dreaming
When the only change
Is the calendar day,
When still,
Frames paint the past,
The straitjacket sews the facts,
And nothing’s fine.
264 lines
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