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NAL Dec 2020
I feel so detached from reality,
I begin to question everyone;  
everything; and anything around me.
12/02/20 draft
Maria Mitea Nov 2020
when listening to the birds
Seranaea Jones Nov 2020

oh, considerate

i fear the scars of your instruction
will never erode, even after i
melt down your mental
with a solution
that i hope will make
them chemically dissolve away,

leaving nothing but your staples.

what was it really ?
hyperactivity, autism,
anomalies of perception,
social detachment,

a Gift ?

well, i guess it would not have
made a difference, everybody
knew of this but

patching up my gray matter mistakes
with remedies permanently cemented
between impressionable foldings

i feel this cure like masonry damming
where free-flowing thoughts that ride
upon streams into oceans were supposed
to have discharged naturally,

stopping me from causing my
summers to mix with everybody
else's winters (or vise versa).

you see, my natural configuration
would have sated for me what
would —in turn— infuriate others,

thus the picket around me was built
sufficiently lofty so i would never
grow tall enough to oversee it.

these days i often mistaken this perimeter
for bricks that line the inside of a well,
complete with a leaky bucket
swinging overhead,
beyond my

of all things an adult child could ever
want for Christmas, the removal of
what now prohibits true potential

these things they instilled into me
so i could not violate the principals
of conventional wisdom in their day—

but this is
My Day
now !

and dead counselors need
not protect their world
from Me anymore !

and this Gift ?

it continues drifting
conspicuously aloft
in my gray ocean—

a Divine Gratuity that remains
—to this day— unsuitable
for redemption...

s jones
© 2020

preston Oct 2020
the forming of substance 04
Stephan W

"For years I’ve wanted to live
according to everyone else’s morals.
I’ve forced myself to live like everyone else,
to look like everyone else.
I said what was necessary to join together,
even when I felt separate.

And after all of this, catastrophe came.

Now I wander amid the debris,
I am lawless, torn to pieces,
alone and accepting to be so,
resigned to my singularity and to my infirmities.

And I must rebuild a truth–
after having lived all my life in a sort of lie."
~Albert Camus

Worlds apart,
there is a tension
an alienation--

now, strangers-
in a not so strange land

So many parts..
fighting the glow
fighting each other-

These parts, hiding--
From having to be seen- when needed,

From the pain of
having to need the other parts
who also are so unable,

From the visibility--
from having to be asked to join in-
to the process of
an integrated internal functioning;
the metabolizing of things.

From the pain of it all-
and the despondency that will come
from any attempt
         to even try.

~  ~
The spirit--
its dimly-lit distant memories
of a wholly different time

now afraid to ingrain itself
into a body- that is as of yet
wholly unable to even know itself--

Fragmented parts of the heart;
broken spirit,
a lonely longing-

There is a division
a separation
immersed in a dank mist of fear--

Parts-- nearly touching
but, so unable to see..

or even feel each other in the dark

And the greatest loneliness
becomes the one that is lived within oneself--

An unlived-living
within the broken internal-world
of fragmented parts-
now huddled into remote corners
with such large spaces in between;

parts, isolated from
other parts.

~  ~  ~
One day they will no longer be
so afraid of each other--

Even in its dimly-lit state of being,
the spirit yearns for a cohesiveness,
a wholeness--

      a re-integration of all the parts;

Until that time, everything will be partial;
dis- assembled


"The park is now empty and bare
with an abandoned shame about it--
the jungle gym, the slide, the swing
have all rusted together.
They're all so terribly alone now,
where did all the children go?

Didn't they know that the park needed them?

A child’s intelligent heart can fathom
the depth of many dark places,
but can it fathom the delicate moment
of its own detachment..”
~Henry Barthes
"Detachment" (2011)

harley r noire May 2020
dream, of a body
with strings in disarray
and spiders homed in decay—
adrift, away
in a sea of grey.
First piece after a long, long break. This is what my mind looks like lately
Paris Mar 2020
*****, used, property
I  see her, standing in the bathroom
Gazing into the mirror
Looking, looking for me.
Though the room was all she saw,
The bed in its rightful place, the slippers
2.5 feet away and the darkness that plotted
to take me away
It engulfed us and buried me
In the depths of her despair

It took and took and took , leaving its
Marks all over me
prints on my skin
bruises on what was once called beautiful
nightmares in a once sound mind

they were more me
than I had been
as I lay
on that rugged carpet with
dust mites as company
with my torn clothes
pooled around me
I became her,the product of what they had done
In me,to me

I watched,
as all 5 locks were locked at 6:00 PM
her curfew
I watched,
As all the skirts and dresses slowly morphed
Into trousers
I watched,
Everyday,as she went about trying,
Trying to protect me
To protect us

Because I didn’t once
And we became
purges Jan 2020
my inability to feel
plagues me

the endless lies i live
the conversations in my head
they encircle me

please don't take it personally
i grow colder with each passing day

as quickly as love turns to hate
as quickly as hunter turns to prey

meaningless, empty words
meaningless, empty eyes
crying void
trying to expel

someone else to give me meaning?
no, i'd rather not
i'd rather die inside a hollow life
A Simillacrum Jul 2019
n if you have a clue
pork who watches you move
will be taking notes
this ***** knows how it goes

n if you have a plan
pork who watches you move
will catch it, understand
this ***** is stealing souls

keep it under the knife
surgeon and patient
ship and astronaut
in E.V.A.
purges Jun 2019
i stole the man in the moon
and now i keep him in my room

i hop into my portable radio at night
and i switch the channels
when I get a fright

outside the schools of silver coin fish,
outside, the turtle, who
for a shell, stole a gold dish

yes, you may touch me
but that doesn't make me real

this wavering water glass
is between us
in panes i cannot feel

a glint of gold smoke,
flash of a crystal cigarette

shimmered right out of the spot she stood in,
with one sparkling pirouette
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