Ego is full of words
Peace is speechless
It has nothing to prove
It accepts pain with a smile
And thanks the Earth
For the gift of feeling
I am a demon
I am my wicked thoughts
An anarchist to everything
Pure, simple and true.
I clean my teeth with your despair
destroy your dreams with one simple laugh
I can twist your words like curls around a finger
I am my own demon picking at my own voices
hoping they would crack and bleed
just another ant on the surface or a zero in binary code
craving to be something honest
maybe even simple
up high on the mountains with delicate, glass bones
I want to cause celebration from my own destruction.
My palms go sweaty and my heart races a little bit and I get a lump in my throat with the thought of love. The thought of being committed and being responsible for holding their heart and not dropping it when I am trying to pick up the shattered pieces of my own. To be so intimately tired to someone, to have someone know so much about you and still want to love you frightens me. Not only does it scare me that I could drop someone else's heart but what about what's left of my own. I imagine I would hand over what is left of my heart in the palms of another, they would glance down and look back up at me. tilting there head slightly and furrowing their brow " where is the rest of it" they would ask.
Honestly I have no answer to that. What time in my life did I lose pieces of my heart? Was it when my parents divorced as a child? Was it the constant nightmares? Was it every time I shoved my fingers down my throat or dragged a blade across my skin? Was it the abandonment of my own family? Or was it every fucking time I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw?
Maybe it was the world around me, how beautifully devastating it is. Or maybe it was the situations I was put in, or the ones I put myself in. Scarily enough it could have just been me. Maybe I am responsible for my own detachment and loneliness. Because how can you love someone without a heart that doesn't love them self
I detach from the world to sleep,
but I’m still attached to you in my dreams.
When the feelings run and hide
and when there is nothing left inside.
I cannot even begin to disguise
the fact that I have cemetery eyes.
An empty shell, a carcass, a husk,
autonomic movement from dawn to dusk.
I will not allow my emotions to rise
and bring back life to my cemetery eyes.
There are words I just cannot repeat,
questions and probing, an enforced retreat.
The shutters fall, there is no compromise,
nobody sees behind my cemetery eyes.
© Pagan Paul (2016)
The Disconnected Man
Tends to notice the Stunner.....
The Woman whose beauty
Exceeds that of all others
In a particular locale.
If I was engaged in Conversation with someone,
I would not feel so tempted
To perceive a woman as a goddess,
When I'm all by myself,
The Woman with exceptional looks
Helps me to stay focussed
And feel less alone.