Vanity, a flippant curse of heart and mind Conjoined as one, feeble as the end produced The whole mass aches and shivers What I tell myself, and what I know as truth Are two separate things entirely
Humility, an apparition of soul and spirit Unity at the cost of knowledge and it's pursuit My thoughts elapse, and it all slips further What I told myself before, in this exchange is forgotten And I'm something else entirely
Morality, in arbitration, I ground myself clear Wrought against the will of better self Tooth and nail ground against my gaunt spine All the words said before, robbed of meaning In the context I find them, am I something else?
Are you a part of me? Why can't I hear you Deep inside these walls Aimless, seizing Are you through with me? I cannot hear you Can't feel your echo Only creeping residue
I sigh for the many awash in despair My attitude attuned in a devil may care All clamoring for Poe not knowing of Baudelaire Or that Ovid’s Bleak Black books of exile are out there Content to coil in their own content of the unfair Not understanding that Depression’s hosting a centuries long fair So rejoice for others have long paid the fare And like starlight from afar your suffering is fair And through artistic labor, you set tables of tantalizing fare
It's hanging in the air, the piece of you, above the hole in the carpet. The hole that was burned there out of anger. Contained by the voice in the back of your mind that pleaded to not allow the fire to spread. The smoke entered through your nose and when it was exhaled, took out of you something you don't remember you lost. Adolescent dementia is your diagnosis. You ebb and flow emotions that correlate little to the situations around you. Your eyes refract the scene around you and interprets it as inverted and skewed. You have an ocean in your mind. Stirred by the restlessness of the moon, your tides find a way to hurt you. Water crashes against the back of your eyes until you finally spring a leak. You're in math class. Pull yourself together. You love to walk, because the sloshing in your head now seems to be the fault of your arms gently swaying at your sides. You get lost a lot, no sense of direction. People wonder why you always hit the edges of the desks when you pass. They think you're high. Your bloodshot eyes betray you. You look down when you walk with a destination in mind. Any distraction magnetically pulls you towards it. You reel back and cast your eyes far into the scene of which you stare. Anything around you is now null. You are at two places at once. No. You've simply left your physical body to wonder a minute, you are tethered to yourself by the notion that you have no time to waste gazing listlessly- "Get out of the street little girl! Who holds your body captive?! Why are you blind to see oncoming traffic?!" You were wondering what it looked like to see a car moving towards you. You proceed home. There is calming music in your ears. You view the world in time with your pace, which is in time with the song. You step and the earth underneath your foot thanks you. It says no one has stepped there before. You're the first the conquer that patch of land. You hear this in your head. The song's instrumental cacophony ensues to interrupt your acquisition. The world as you see it dissolves into a blur of colors so vivid, you do not know their name. Its transported you far from the road home. You see smoke. It looks like pure light but it behaves like the noxious admittance from your mother's cigarette. You reach out your hand to manipulate it around your fingers. It's wet. You're outside your house now. Two steps away from your carport. You stand in pouring rain. Water is slipping off the roof onto your outstretched hand. You think for a moment that you do not want to go inside. You lock the door behind you as you enter.
This is me, stuck in my rut with the same dizzy dream.
If it's no problem, please join me. There's a city outside in the rain. In the side of an archive coffee shop, I saw you reading, leaning -- more like pressing the world away -- fully removed.
After the shop closed three years later the weather changed. In the dry dust the sun burned on the blacked out window, your face curved more like the sword, less like the first observed orange light of hope on the edge of West horizons. Where are you but in the glass? But in the mud puddle's flipped throwback?
Time is slipping through my fingers, stealing your love A glance at first sight, became a glance of lost perspective I loved you where there was no space and time I guess my love for you needed space and time
I'm in the same place as before but time got a hold of me Now loving you is a rain of poisonous letters Pouring upon me to rip off my emotions Time is slowly stealing my love for you...
I wish I could reach through time, to grab your hand and tell you not to go. I don't want to be forgotten here, I wish you would have held me dear.
Pages and pages of memories filled with you are being lost, the turning of time is the un-writing of our story. I didn't see it when the letters began to fade; I didn't see the days you stayed away.
I keep turning the pages hoping to see your scrawl, but each turn reveals more empty space. I've become blind to the world as I search for you, I’ve forgotten how to write memories without you around.
I held your heart in blank spaces of my mind, It was there that I hoped your love could bloom, That the fruits of our love could become my ink, Oh the memories we would paint.
I see you in the foreseeable future, I want to hold you beyond the imagination, Love is promised but ocean divides everything, Just don't leave...
I guess I've been feeling listless Physically I'm well But I'm far from my best I really want some excitement But I don't know where to find it I'm in a life based rut But I'm breathing, healthy and strong And I know this slowdown won't last for long
Heart attack man lies, fallen Splayed out like the Vitruvian da Vinci . The sidewalk his bed of lilies, while a woman cries over him. Another man, in a wife beater, kneels down and starts compressions. His face turning blue, the same color blue as his neck tattoos. The tattoos disappearing-- causing traffic to stop. One cop car stops, blocking the intersection. Lights in eye aching flashes alert others to the danger. They flash, "don't look here death is prowling" in an Aldis lamp language only the subconscious reads. The man in the wife beater beats compressions on the mans chest while a Nurse pulls over and another cop shows up with a defibrillator. His blue face looks like mine, I see the resemblance as I drive past the scene. He's nearly my age and I figure there is enough help. Just drive on past like its another day. I try not to tell myself, as I pass the blue faced ghost with the neck tattoos just standing in shock, "Whatever you do, do not make eye contact."
This was a true event. I wish I knew if the man lived. ...I hope so.