Does innovation require a person to be more than their experiences, or just a new combination of them?

Surely, i hear you say,
the beauty of
becoming
surpasses
the beauty of
Being. Being me.

It's not polite to be unhappy
We are conditioned to look pleased.
So as not to offend.
The lying unhappy person.
Walking in front of me.

Hot and licking.
Clot and pricking
Jubilantly unrehearsed.
But cools. Now a curse.
Waning the soul.
Draining the whole.
Too much a tax.
Is this. This raining wax.

She collected dead moths.
Thought that their powdery wings were beautiful.
Eventually, the wings disintegrated.
And instead of dead moths.
She had dust.

Empty words… Light enough to float far above one’s head.

I watch these words.
Some, the lighter ones, soar. Others drift.

All are meaningless, touching no one.

Always, eventually I forget they are there… accidentally crush them in my palms… for these words are fragile, are made after all, with just the ghost of substance.  

These words, I once despised. Oh, how I despised!
These words, *once upon a time.

When you find the question
That is also the answer.
You have found, a kind obsession.

My brain pulsates
My  heat breaks
I am free.

Like a shooting star.

I drifted further and farther away. To where it- whatever that is! Whatever that is, goes blurry...so blurry, so that the blurriness is moving, pulsating, as if to say, ‘I could be anything, I could mean anything.’

Like a star.

But.

When everything is possible, nothing is plausible.

It is a paradox. Oh but a paradox!

Self-pity is addictive
I write so as to justify.
to give this pity, tangibility.

It moves on
                   moves on
                                  ON
                             BUT
                     today
                    it
          went
back

The stars are suspended,
but never in suspense
because by the time
they meet your eyes
They are dead.

Feelings  fill my head. Insubstantial like water.
Unspeakable.
Occasionally forming waves. Crashing, submerging my vision.
I am under.  In a warped world.
Yet I breath.
Like a mermaid.

Good is why and how.

I've only stopped talking for half an hour.
Already relief from this sour
drone of noise.

You taint words.
My words.
Is there a bigger crime?
But i know
i am egocentric.
So, of course there is
and its not eating bananas
But you know i hate them too.
has too much hate
does an agitated mind.

Crying is alright really,
For those who like salt.
Tears are salty.
So is the sea.
We are sailors.
Upon a pond Lilly.

All              I see
         
           is

fragmentation.

Why I bothered, even at all, is because they had said with smiles that my future was in my hands. I didn’t understand their smiles. I desperately hoped, that it wasn’t, that it would be too big to fit there.

I always start at the middle.
Skip the beginning,
which is actually,
mostly the end.

He was the cause.
Not what it was.
The love was much too sweet.  
For a person to compete.

The trick is to find something.
That is both... worth living and dying for.
This way you can’t possibly lose.

A face flows with sadness.
I am powerless to the force.

The sadness disappears.
Briefly, I am lifted, held close
Like a rag doll, swung around.
All is as it should be.

Gently, I am placed back down.
I know that it was all a Goodbye.
I do not need or want to know why.

Though but a dream
This vision in equal measures,
haunts and comforts me.

I always did want to start at the end and work backwards.
Imagine being somewhere and not knowing how or why.
The suspense and mystery would be wonderful.
Would be, it would, altogether better than having the entire world before you.
Wondering where to go.

I never wanted to write angsty things.
But i don't find it humorous, or even beautiful
The way i used to.
Love is a verb.
And you obviously don't give a ****.
I delete you, your poisonous presence.