Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
reflectionzero Sep 2014
A large part of me
wants to run off into the hills
and become a Buddhist monk.

Focus all of my energy and attention onto any fitting god
and get high off breathing exorcizes.
Maybe then all the lights and sound
from this derailed society of aging selfies
and narcissism
would stop screeching in my ear.

Then the other part of me feels obligated to integrate myself
and change it somehow.
Like it's my duty to confront
the entire dissociative body
of social-networking and media.

These are the conflicting ideas
which sixty-nine in my head all night
until it becomes an ouroboros-****
debate on how
to keep breathing.

I heard a guy tell me today at the bar that if he could live forever, he would. I have trouble with this concept given that every critical aspect of life seems fundamentally damaged to me. I'm not suicidal, I'm just having trouble seeing what this obnoxious ***** at the bar is seeing. Maybe I should order another beer? It's people like you that make me want to write.


-r0
reflectionzero Sep 2014
I know
that you got into a relationship
with a guy who only married you
for your money
and your huge ****.

I know
that you're branching out of the dead gardens
of your relationship
to sew seeds in my field,
and they keep dying.

I know
that you know how I feel about about it all
and you know that I think you're a great guy.
I am not the liver transplant
for this liqueur-derailed
dance you're doing.

We're all sorry.

Your victimhood
is a virulent strain
infecting everyone
but
me.

-r0
reflectionzero Sep 2014
volumes fly as pages
catch wind novel
images and shapes
form in speechless
colored language
my dreams
speak.
reflectionzero Sep 2014
I need a statue that bleeds
and a diamond that cracks
a fluid solid
wants without needs
to be generally exact

I need you to stay
while you watch me leave
I need you to say
what I wouldn't believe

what I want is a contradiction
a fairy-tale non-fiction
rhythm, rhyme, diction
freezing from friction
a tamed addiction

-r0
reflectionzero Jun 2014
love isn't a transaction.
reflectionzero Jun 2014
I rarely get on Facebook anymore. But when I do, I'll change my profile picture or banner-- maybe post a witty status update, maybe not witty, just something to let people know I'm alive.

It's like repositioning the arms on a stationary mannequin to depict a different scene. Except lately I just don't care anymore. It's just that-- a mannequin. An object, an image, a lifeless entity with which I used to feel real-- a dusty mirror.

I see that the line between the idea of a person and the reality is being blurred and crossing over into something all-together different. It's as if people are starting to wake up and realize the objectivity of their reality. But that brings into question the basis for which we define reality.

We have become a, “Look but don't touch” society in which we click a button to show our appreciation as opposed to genuinely reciprocating human emotion and energy. It is extremely isolating and dangerous.

Packed subways and sidewalks have fallen eerily silent with faces illuminated by their cellphones. Most everyone wants to be heard, appreciated and recognized and social media has provided an outlet for that.

But there comes a point at which your platform becomes your prison and your voice your warden-- and everything you say is modified to be pleasing to the ear and 'likeable'.

But I like dislikes. And if you're not ******* anyone off-- you're probably not doing anything important, and if you're not outraged you're not paying attention.
reflectionzero Jun 2014
$$$
Busy little bee, you've got yourself some honey
You trap yourself in sweet desire
Sticky situation you've got yourself in.
Flower to flower, hour to hour
Bumbling about your days.
Stacking that sugar to the ceiling
Drone yourself a home.
Stuck in a husk, an empty hive.
A queen throned
Alone.

You busy, busy little bee.

-r0
Next page