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Rockie Feb 2015
I thought I knew
But you didn't, did you?
I guess not
No, of course
My conscience told me I didn't
I did, didn't I?
It puts me down
I do?
And lifts me up
Do I?
Yet, I can't stop it
Yes you can
I am you,
And you are me,
Together as one

I suppose we are
But it goes on
And on
And on
yasmine Feb 2015
your eyes are the
slightest shade of red
and with every blink
they move more into the deep

you stare back at me
but i cannot make of what
you are thinking

eyes closed and i know
i am sealed away from you
just look and stop running away

you are scared and confused
how can something so frail
be so disaterous and hateful

look again
this mirror holds
more than one person
Shaun Meehan Jan 2015
fangs dripping
poison—dripping with
death.
yellow eyes slither stalking,
so hypnotic in their convincing;
in pursuit, our every step
pressured into flight’s direction.

a nightmare’s seed
planted beneath pillow,
following into dream.
the serpent’s coil riding
headrest’s rooting *******—
even slumber thought safety
infected.

a viper of self-consciousness, the
familiar of societal impositions
fuelling reflection’s hostility;
its venom—an injection of insecurity.
fangs dripping poison—
fangs dripping with
dishonesty.
Everyone is beautiful in their own way and to abandon uniqueness in favour of societal pressures does a disservice to humanity. A widely covered subject, but my own personal attempt to adequately contribute to the discussion.
Amitav Radiance Jan 2015
Extroverted efforts
To reveal the deepest thoughts
In our minds
Are not enough
Our endorsements
Are not always in their favor
Some gestures are silent
Picked up by the subliminal
Cat Moulaison Jan 2015
My mom was angry
My sister didn't understand
Thought I was insane for spending that much
On a tiny bottle of foundation
But what they don't realize is
This bottle of heavy duty
Full coverage
Long lasting
Foundation
Gives me confidence to wear my hair back
Out of my face
Bright lipsticks
Dramatic eyeliner
And not feel like I want to die
And that is
Priceless
What is it
within the realm of
my Self
that has the nerve
to question the divinity
of this current, fleeting moment?

Is it not the vessel of Life, itself,
that is used to navigate
these, the occluded
Seas of Death?

Could it not be
that a Mind and Body
are the very salvation
over which we so toil?

Would it not be an act of pure mercy
to have the capacity to look around
and to think, and create
while, all the time,
being pulled under
by the inevitable tide of change
we, in English, chose to call
"Death?"

That, in itself,
should inspire me to carry on
and to turn an eye
up from the ground, back from the past;
to within my self; this current moment;
and on, upward:
to the skies and, likewise,
the future.

What is it about my Mind
that so enjoys, or perhaps requires
some selfish sense of 'overlooking'
for the sake of ephemeral comfort?

Alas,
I know what word I would use,
but I dare yet not to use it;
for, t'is that a word, itself,
isn't the concept, itself;
and it's use would be to misdirect
from the nature of the experience,
and to mistranslate what I feel.

I realize the necessity
for names; for words:
we use them to facilitate communication.
I also understand their limit:
there is a great realm
beyond the transparent restraints
of our Languages.

I would identify the culprit
as either "Ego," or "Id."
But, better yet, I would argue
"both and neither."

Freud had some great ideas,
but I tend towards Jung-

I could sooner call it the Shadow,
or at least one aspect of it.

The Shadow is semi-subconscious.
It is an amalgam of fears and repression.
It can only hold so much pressure
before it erupts.
So,
I implore you
to study your Shadow.

It has great potential for change.
Failing to utilize it
is to be utilized by it.
Make it work for you
or you will work for it.
Use your Shadow
to your advantage,
or it will use you
to that of it's own.

Pick apart your Self;
put it back together.
Sometimes that's easier said than done,
but, with a proper mindset,
it'll come and leave
before you even know it.
It happens all the time.

Refuse the shackles
of thy Shadow;
break the chains
and share with the world
the fleeting feeling
of self-liberation.

That is,
if someone doesn't misinterpret what you've said;
looking through the Shadow,
everything looks darker.

Realize where you're going.
Realize what you're doing.

Heed what you feed,
external or internal.

Seek Balance.
Explore Ideas.
Gain Understanding
no matter how slow:
at all
is far better
than so many.

No one may escape these Seas;
but you can start some ripples
that will propagate ad infinitum.

Ask. Practice. Learn. Grow.
Mostly improvised.
Stream-of-consciousness-esque.

Call it following a whim~

Spoken Recording:
https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/fleeting-seas-of-death
the mind is a vessel swimming in ideas, until the break into reality--waves are receding from the shoreline of thought,
crashing crescendos of melodies
that ached to be heard
And
words that longed to be written
And
memories that once resurfaced--

All gone.

Dreaming is a poet's land and
I ache for eye sight and control and the free flight of my subconscious.
Reality sigh
Phoenix Rising Dec 2014
A voluntary victim of life
Parasites called eyes
What we see are lies
We learn to segregate our intuition from physicalities
You gotta unfold inward
A paradoxical lesson of how to 'wake up'
lachrymose Dec 2014
what a life it is
to live in love
with an ideal self.
to be in love with one
who doesn't exist,
not even in fiction,
only in the realm of your mind.
what a life it is
to look in the mirror
and feel your soul shatter
but when you look away,
you can pretend you are
the version of you that you see in your head.
I'm not the only one. I know it.
Biographers say that Sylvia Plath was in love with her dream self, encompassed in a strange egotistical fantasy.
I live in that same fantasy.
How do I make fantasy me
the real me?
If you can't tell, I haven't found myself. I know who I want to be, and I think I'm in love with her, but she isn't real.
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