I don't have a guarantee
that he's coming back
-- but he did.
I'm not sure if it will last
-- and so, he let go.
Stop feeding the fickle ones and they will go away.
Keep feeding the loyal ones and they will stay.
The fickle won’t starve for you.
But the loyal know they need you to survive.
HP is for humans
Writing has always been a fickle friend to me;
Sometimes the only thing standing between me and a masterpiece
Is the mood to write.
Fickle me, funny feelings. Forget it.
Forget it girl, you just can’t make
It up, can’t make up your mind
Sometimes you want it bad, but then
They take you over -
It’s too much, just stop
Run away, hide from them all.
Escape this dull pain heavy
In your body, that you slug every
Where; to class, back home,
To the shops, to the fridge
To bed with whoever, whoever
Will add more and more empty weight
For you to drag around.
One day I will be fixed to the ground
Buried deep underneath them all
our naked silence & honey kiss
were nothing to him
he will curse our empty love
with a bittersweet word
and you let it **** us.
There were warning signs to beware,
great walls you had to climb,
more parcels inside,
sealed with labeled reminders
to handle with care.
That a wrong cut of a wire
could trigger explosives,
that the place wasn't just fragile,
it was also volatile.
There's a reason why
from miles away you'd been told
to keep your own distance.
Why this wasn't just something
you could happen to stumble upon,
but a shipwreck, a paper town,
a lost city you needed to find.
When it dawned upon you
that this was not paradise,
but a haunted cemetery of some kind,
you snuck your way back
to the hole you fell into;
burning the place to the ground,
like the ones who came before you.
WANT is such a fickle thing
Worth no more than prior words
Spent unwisely in the spinning of a slot machine
Cash out while you can?
Better instead, to not play with that which you do not believe
Better yet, indeed
The object we perceive as our's
makes it harder to let go.
Take a few steps back in time,
It was never our's, to begin with.
Go a few steps ahead in time,
We lose the object,
Or our interest in it.
Such is the fickle nature of most things around us,
More volatile are the emotions because of them.
So hold on to your Self,
hold on to the constant,
it's so much easier to let go,
Realizing nothing was our's to let go.
I don't know what you are to me.
Does that make you nothing?
I don't think so.
I think I would know
what nothing feels like...
Feels like signing Mum's name on a gravestone application that never got processed
there should be screeching steel on tarmac
like in the movies
my ears are FULL of nothing
SO full of nothing
they are heavy with the sound of silence
I can SEE crunching and snapping
I can SEE screaming
but I HEAR heaviness.
...Maybe buzzing? A roaring?
A reverberation of all that nothing?
As it spills from my ears and drips with gravity to the roof of the car
which has become the floor
flooded with all that nothing
it's my Mum's hair
curls scrunched against the head rest
tantalising ringlets reaching for the ceiling
it's the last I'm seeing of her
and this word play means nothing
when you consider how much nothing I've held
in an upside down car.
Nothing feels like reality
after experiencing the surreal.