I am
the center

The center
Of the world
Of the universe

My universe,
                        at least

For who else could I be
But me?

I see the world
Through my own eyes
                the lens of my own experiences
                the shades of my own perceptions

I feel only
through my own heart

Just like we all do

If we each are the center
Of our own universes
What happens when universes collide?

Will I see through your eyes?
Feel through your heart?
Or will I don blinders?
Deny your world’s existence?

If you believe that seeing the worlds of others
Only expands your own

Then come
Explore the multitudes of universes
Each of us centered in our own
But ever seeking
                               new eyes
                               new hearts
                               new worlds

wading through
the shallows
a dip
in this sea
does not
at first
look
particularly appealing
beneath
the surface is
a microcosmic tempest
of shingle
and sand
dashing
upon toes
upon ankles
upon shins

a tickle
of seaweed
leaves paranoia
burning
where sense
and logic
should reside
suddenly
i'm wondering
where sea snakes
are usually found

tiptoeing
against each swell
to keep shoulders
above water
somebody calls out
   jellyfish
and laughs
clearly
they are not
surrounded
by these
alien forms
drifting
ever closer
leaving me
no option but
to struggle
to remain
statuesque
as they pass
too close
for comfort

when the depth
forces me
to give up
my toehold
of sand
or shell
to tread water
and embrace
the solitude
finally
i will see
how truly clear
the waters
can be

Being objective

is easy, less scary as --


being subjective.

The Oracle knows

what I want, that's what she gives --


me as her advice.

What is the point of getting drunk
Like it doesn't make sense to me
Why drink to the point you stumble
Why drink to the point you can't speak

Sentences half formed as the words sluggishly leave the lips laced seamlessly with the poison of alcohol,
smell of alcohol hugs tightly it seeming as though the words were being choked,
your message diluted in slurs and repetition.

The burning sensation as is slivers down the windpipe
The heat radiating through the chest dispersing to all corners of the body
This feeling is meant to feel good
This feeling is meant to be addictive
This feeling is meant to be the reason people drink?

Or is the reason people drink the effect
It causes you to forget slipping in and out of consciousness,
Memories half baked turning minutes to hours and hours to seconds,
Momentary flashes of event passed with no sense of order that must be pieced together the morning after
They drink to escape.

"I don't drink" is what I want to tell you
That me being able to distill, filter and brew on this topic lead to some sort of realisation,
That I don't conform to peer pressure or give in as I too fear of missing out,
So as I continue to live I also become addicted to society’s legal drug.
What’s your reason to drink?

All I believe in
Is that no one
Knows anything
I believe in
Sheer ignorance
Anybody that
Claims to know
Something
It's like
"How could you?"
We're clueless

Sometimes, such as on days like today
I sit and I mourn for my long-forgotten faith
I miss the certainty of a Most Divine Plan
Those self-assured speeches of a holy man
Assurances he speaks for the Ordained Track
Promises of a Supreme Being who's got my back
On these days when I wish, reminisce and long
I can't help but wonder where it all went so wrong

It's not that I Believe that There Is No God
Or even that I am unsure whether to believe or not
I don't bother questioning if god is real
For there is a bigger issue at play, I feel
When I became faithless, it was just in HIS eyes
"Faithless" I am not; there's just so much to surmise

I have Faith that the sun will warm each new day
I have Faith that these heavy clouds will give rain
I have Faith in the ground solid on which I stand
I have faith; just not Faith in the Words of a Man

See, I have come to accept that I soon will die
More surely, in fact, than the sun that may rise
Any day that sun may not appear
That day of darkness that we so fear
I accept that any moment May advent my end
I accept that there May be a sunrise just round the bend

With my flawed, weak powers of human perception
Dependent as they are on my senses' inception
I cannot Know a god, not many nor One
Just as I cannot Know that tomorrow will come

Maybe it will, and maybe there is
after all,
But truly--
who among us can Know anything
at all?

there is a collection of beautiful things
on the street at three in the morning.
i know this because i am one of them;
tomorrow, i will be human again,
but tonight, i am divine. tonight,
i am the beer bottle rattling, unbroken,
sea-glass against the cobblestone.
i have been seen and been consumed,
which, at three in the morning
(in a collection of beautiful things on the street)
is the human experience. to live, divine—
or something like that.

so, meet me in the neon lights.
where am i? look into them as if the sun,
and find apollo. there i'll be.

Take a gun
And shoot the one holding
the contrary view, with sword
Slice head and torso in two,
If that is not enough, dig graves and
bury them alive, dig it again give them
momentary light and life, then bury again,

Your view and perception are perfect,
you should not allow others to contradict you?