and then i arose one day, to realize i'd lost myself in time perhaps i lost who i was because she's no longer here to find or not lost at all, but found a new home - of this, i'm not certain dwindling amongst the constellations comprised of all my other versions
but ****, i feel so free, i've found the keys to my own prison wasted time looking for a better life yet all the while i was livin' it let your soul live with intention, not in a state of suspension live your potential that brings your most enlightened peace live not to bridge the chasms in another soul's journey
put forth more energy to only that which serves you untangle yourself from that which does not deserve you don't let your waiting existence be made into a sport cause one day you'll wake and there'll be nothing left to wait for
I wish I was a billionaire so I could travel everywhere in my own private aeroplane go see the world and not be vain in a much more conducive time and write about it all in rhyme. Helping all those needy people regardless of their own steeple who'd come across my path to be and give to them a hand from me for all their immediate needs as an example of good deeds. ____
Swanboat, swan Please Be with me again when you get here You and your long brown hair Swan, white wings Head bowed Clasp my hands in yours and Honor your vows Swan I want to swim alongside you Even if the lake is dying And the fish all float And you are drowning My imperfect Dying Swanboat Come around again to me Each spring I crave your touch Like the desert and the rain's lust It hits the sand and seeps into the ground And you forget my name Swan You keep me up at night I miss your brown eyes and your laugh I want to see you again Holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers And doing anything to show I'm sorry for making you live Swanboat
i'd have given up my poetry for you blind, drawn by your voice, you lonely bird i cornered you without even wishing to but i swear i held the lines in my throat though they died i'd have given up my song for you but you lied and boasted and cried to me we were children then, i was a fool rope at the ready each moment for i'd have ripped out my dreams for you and my love was utterly fragmented back there i whimpered against the staircase watching the night drawl along i always knew it'd never be enough for you
it's been a very long time since I've looked at the stars and seen stars
I am learning how to do everything again how to live after a decade of dying how to get up and brush my teeth and learn things speak to people how to look up at the stars and not count the days until my death
there are days when the sweet blade against my skin seems preferable than looking myself in the mirror but the knives stay in the drawers now not under the mattress
it's difficult now but if I have done nothing in my life at least I have learned how to live how to see the stars for once
Like the choir in heaven, Like the death of my eleven, Like the many who have tragically died. There’s a devil over yonder, And she’s getting a little closer, And what’s the point, If it’s not played, In blue?
And the trees outside keep dying, My shattered windows keep lying, I keep myself alive like god sleeping on the seventh. Stray cat, come back home. You’ll step on glass if you roam. God, what’s the point, If I’m not there, With you?
Strange, there is a shadow cross the graveyard, And they gaze wistfully back to me. In their hands a sparkling poem, Bleeder of flesh and life alike. He rounds the headstone draped in sable, His pace matched by the lines I sowed, Kneels among the dirt and mourners, Leans forward embracing me, melancholy. Whispers sweet nothings and forlorn promises, Buried together under the Earth. Her kiss so lone, condemned her tears. And she departs, hastily as the blood fell. Slowly as the dark became null.
Existence that remains unknown is existence without rules. Since 'kun fiya kun' or "Be, and it is" is so basic, the only answer to "being" that solves is b+e=be. Still I question: "what am I, now?" as if I've never heard an answer.
My mind cannot cognize its own existence with "be" nor another verb. Its rationality is as truth, which has no limits. Yet, in the midst of expansion it asks "what am I?" Answering: "fullness" is rejected when I can reject the fullness.
"Disbelief" is what I am when everything is going right but I must say "I am not there yet". This disbelief is the wind in my sails, without it I would not have gone anywhere. For even positive knowledge says "there is more to find", really saying "you are not you". Thus, I am never. Whereby "be" laughs and says "still, there is nothing".
Having been referred to on multiple occasions as being “depressed”, I am offended. Every time. Having a chronically macabre state of mind and being drawn to a melancholy atmosphere and writing does not make one depressed. Or a psychopath. It does not mean a person is on a journey to being a serial killer or committing suicide. Some people, such as myself, just happen to find comfort in things deep and meaningful. While some comedy, joy, and love is to be revered and enjoyed more sparingly the sad, twisted, and horrid truths of the world can uphold a better sense of completion, joy, and love. This does not make one depressed or mentally ill but perhaps just more...... thoughtful.