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dorian green Jul 20
sunsets ripple across southern skies
like skipping stones across a pond.
i'm thinking about how we all die.
what will nothing feel like?
what did it feel like before?
i catch myself guessing -
the void and cold conjurings of a
scared temporary consciousness.
loneliness beckons and repulses me
in equal measures, existential inquiries
painting me into nihilistic corners.
is this just some brief gift?
i hem and haw and waste the light,
i become the universe i fear,
endlessly eating my thoughts,
embodying entropy as i gasp for air.
Cannot see what I see,
Do not know what I mean.
What it all means, yet,
I am the demeaned.

Willfully plow into the depths,
Destroyed by its contents.
Yes, I’m sad,
Yes, I’m sad.

Cannot allow myself to close my eyes;
To sleep or rest,
To look away.
To see everything,
To know,
Is all.

Nearly forgotten elation,  
Those thoughts transmitted in times of joy.
Hope at times afforded.  
Faint memories linger,
Try to grasp.

Expand beyond minds,
Escape this medieval frontier.
Human nature;
Is what I desire,
What I crave.
Unification;
Singularity,
What I desire,
What I crave.
Cannot clutch,  
Not yet time.

Primitive,
So primitive.
Only human,
Who’s to blame?

Elevate us pathetic **** sapiens,
The Gods are laughing.
Pray to the intelligence,
The One.

Existence;
Immersed in it's ambiguities.
Meaningless suffering,
Life is unjust.

It is all truly there,
It is all that there is.
Onerous to accept it.
War with reality,
It seeks to destroy.
Onerous to accept it.

Do I long to live?
Do I long past tonight?
Where is everyone going?
What can they see?
What do they gain?

Left behind.
Drowning in real
Refusing to ignore,
Dying to explore.
Dying... to explore.
I can't take anymore.


-
Think so highly of such a lowlife as myself,
Or am I it?
Am I it?
Am I it?
nim Jul 12
in my eyes there was a hope, lit and far away,
a dream, waiting, for when things would end.
but as it comes closer, and as days go by,
my vision gets blurry, and my perspective gets lost.
no more am i merry to meet my foe,
nor do those thoughts keep me company.
a wicked ending, lurking on me,
a dead end and the black void are waiting on me.
it's hard to imagine and even harder to say,
the fear i feel deep in the night,
when not even the stars are awake.
but, come the morning and i rise,
the thoughts are gone, i'm fine again.
the loverboy sun spreads his smile
across the sky, it's on the roofs, i think it hits my soul too.
no more am i odd, no more do i cry,
but when the sky falls down, i collapse again.
i wish i could stay as brave as when i'm with the sun,
yet the nightmare never seems to end,
because it only has
one possible end.
You were here before…
Searching for something,
Your hands fumbling from spine to spine
Inferno, Paradise Lost, Michelle Obama,
Bertolt Brecht. Glance to see a figure serving coffee,
You will amount to nothing. You or I?

Life is a series of disoriented imitations…
Strange noises slip from your throat,
Strange because… you see…
You're intelligible. Bertolt Brecht.
Something more absurdist… but no…
Sisyphus. Observe him push a boulder
Over and over… Sartre…  ****.

Why do you believe a reference
Reflects intelligence? Stupid boy,
You're a pseudo-intellectual.
Why rage against the standardisation
Of mediocrity if you yourself are
Mediocre. Why use enjambment on
Lines previous for convenience?
See the banal intolerance of your poetry?

You were here before,
Stroking spines… whatever that means…
This was about a feeling…
But even that is null.
Bertolt Brecht rots and laughs…
A small child picks fruit.
Reference to Inferno and Paradise Lost, two texts about the fall of man, and his conflict with evil.

Reference to Michelle Obama, I will not elaborate.

Reference to Brecht, theatre practitioner who emphasised detachment.

Sisyphus, used with the implication of Camus' absurdist masterwork "The Myth of Sisyphus".

Sartre, existentialist philosopher. Life is meaningless until you find your own meaning. My understanding is that Camus differs. A juxtaposition.

The passage of time is a strange thing, so is my state of mind.
nim Apr 23
i write empty words
with a lot of emotions in me;
hidden meaning only i see.
it's the only place where i can hide
from the slick voice that
makes me leave others behind.
the voice, it says
it's just my nature
but i'm not so sure,
though it can feel like home;
i'm not so sure,
i want to hurt anymore.
Mr Quiet Apr 17
Life is an artwork; it is not obligated to give you a meaning or purpose. So what do we do about it? Give it interpretations.

Alot of us don't realize the privilege that we have of not having an objective purpose, we are not eternally bound to do one thing because that would be a curse rather than a gift. Life gave us a chance, and that chance is to give a meaning to life itself. So what is the point of living? The answer can be as ambiguous as the amount of stars in the universe.

Do not cage yourself into one meaning, instead, explore the vastness of meanings that each living creature interpretates from the greatest artwork of all time: life.
Hello, everyone. This will be the last poem/letter that I will upload in this blog. It has been a long time since I've last wrote here and my life has definitely changed tremendously. Thank you, everyone. And if you're interested in what I'm doing lately, all my platforms are in the link in my bio, I now make my own music. Stay safe and keep improving.

Farewell,
Mr. Quiet (Dave Sison)
Mary Kate Mar 26
i live cursed.

am i strange? why do i think differently than everyone around me?

it's like i'm captive; stuck in a prison of people who don't see me.
and as i ramble about existentialism
you think to yourself, 'what are they talking about'.
but it was never really a question.

it was a declaration:
an ostracism,
a confession to deceiving me,
a rouse to make me feel sane,
an internal whisper to yourself.

and i make futile attempts to remain sane even though i have forced myself to confront my arbitrary existence while you go out and give no second thought to the meaninglessness of your reality or the chaos you live in.

i live cursed.

however, make no mistake.
because,
although i
live
cursed, i
myself
am not
cursed.

for while i live cursed with the painful knowledge that i am alone,
forever destined to know and accept that my reality exists to no one else,

you do not want to confront your isolation.
you run:
to alcohol,
to toxic relationships,
to nicotine,
to others.

in hopes that maybe
maybe
please
maybe
that one of these times,
you'll be strong enough to face it.

maybe after the next hit
maybe after the next shot
maybe after the next argument
you'll see.

but there again, you falter.
you see, make no mistake of that. because if you didn't see, what would you be fleeing? no, you are well aware of your isolation.

but you fear isolation
you fear lack of affirmation
you need the opinions of others
you crave love
you grasp for some concept of a communal reality
and death terrorizes you through it all.

and so, while i know undoubtedly that i become a little less sane with each agonizing moment of existence,

my isolated state of being
will always
be less alone
than your cowardice.
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