he stopped me, a little further ahead of him
on the sidewalk
he said
"I've lived this life before"
"and?" i asked

he just looked at me and walked along

Is that danger in the distance?
Or do my eyes deceive?

****.

Like dark clouds
gathering above mountains.
Like how the young see their futures.

(Though it's not like the world hasn't been ending
this entire time.

In billions of years the sun will explode.
In hundreds, our planet will be just dust and stone,
and the bones of industry.
And at my rate
I'll self-destruct by sixty years of age.

But) what is this thing that sticks and stings
and irks
like a mirage?

Not the flavor of fingers dipped in deliciousness.
Not the freshness of a newborn babe.
Not the scent of flowers.
Not feet in a hot bath.
Not fumbling a lovers face,
frolicking through foxglove fields,
flitting a fiery frevo,
finishing first.

No,
none of that.

It's not a thing,
but a feeling.

Fear
Fear
Fear

And it sticks and stings
and irks,
like a mirage.

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet

I'm sorry
for all the times
when
you read my lines
it's
like yesterday
when
they made you cry

I've forgotten now
sometimes I'll think I'm dead
will you show me how
to
keep the voices in my head

We are tired.
So very very tired.
Everything feels like a waste of time
And our minds feel tired.
Our bones won't respond.
Their eyes look bored
And the train of thought has paused.
Everything feels so insufferable,
Nothing feels new or true anymore.

This kind of tired
Was born in us.
And somehow it has tangled its way
Around our hearts.
The dreary days come from years
Of waking to the same
Numb dumb feeling in our smiles.
We feel motion sickness in our hands
From writing all these bubblegum dreams
Knowing that our reality
Will never be as sweet
As the dreams that come from sleep.

It's the tragic trend of the generation
That spent so long overthinking
That they figured it all out.
Now our anxious minds feel the tired
From knowing the illusion has reached the credits.
There's no reset button,
And we're too poor to drown in the dust
Of the bones of those from before.
So we'll stay tired
And drown in bittersweet fallacies
Waking and hating
The haunting reality.

Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you  
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.


We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.


Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?