9 degrees from location
I can’t see the formation
Of fear adopting me from temptation
It wasn’t honor or pride
It’s fear of what consequence resides
The naked plush of a lustful rush
In the trippy black out
emphasized by my friend’s paintbrush
I’ve never thought fantasy could be escalated
seems I’ve hit a milestone
I’ve shot up a dragon ride home
Now I’m excited by warmth and fascinated by combs
I’ve never wandered the medieval before
That’s why I stuck to game of thrones
My minds been freed
My body, imprisoned
It can’t be explained but it’s nothing depicted in illustrated predictions of purple, red and off key balance as seen in pulp fiction
They say drug use is escapism
Acid burnt down the bars of social anxiety disorders and confines of 3rd dimensional prisms
Left bare dialectical materialism
Molly taught me how to make friends
While your sobriety made you prone to solipsism
This was always what I’d imagined it to be
When I close my eyes and see
For a while I had looked over the wall than walk through the gate
Always drew the solution with stick to sand but never went into the maze
Always window shopped the shoes
But never tried them on to walked the way
Perhaps it’s a common laymen’s phrase
That drugs are a paradise lost in the haze.
Disclaimer: I don’t support the excessive use of drugs but find the campaigns against some of them on the basis of escapism somewhat too rigid and harsh.
It must hurt
To finally know,
What i contained.
-All the time that i thought you'll comprehend.-
You ask for forgiveness
from the paleness
that you've caused
and ofcourse you wouldn't know
as we were paused.
We're in flames of carmine,
Watching our souls untwine.
And a woeful combat
Of our demons,
It must surely trigger,
Realising: the damages get bigger.
and I was a beautiful cave
for which you were allowed to pave in, your own path.
An amount of prestige
Onto your personality.
Splashing all the,
Insignificance over my
I've taken too,
Too much of heart;
Too much of soul.
As i give up blood,
I'm musing over you
(Maybe) a last time.
I must alter my actions,
And turn them to you.
now that we're done
I let you live as a slave
cause the ashes that are deep buried,
the flames that burn with screams
may seem to be easily blown off
but it won't
Lastly here i am,
Reconciling my words to you;
Putting them together
In and out of place.
The last breath i take (in your name):
Your honor, i rest my case.
One year later, I'm still where you left me.
Tired, undone and unfinished.
Untangling the knots
Two years later, I'm halfway there,
Still holding on,
To the promises you made.
You were never there.
Three years gone,
There's love for me to feed on.
Roughly recollecting the sense
Of your touch.
Four years lost,
There's so much I've gained.
Strength and happiness,
Five years remained,
I've lost count now.
Too busy enumerating,
Favours of people
Who've loved me,
And embraced me.
What gave in?
allow me to bring attention
to what I forgot to mention
I have a predisposition
to build fences when there's tension
and I don't mean to sound
like I'm trying to bring you down
but when you come around
I can't make myself stay on the ground
and this may be a little weird
but I have this irrational fear
of attempting to steer clear
of emotion whenever you are near
so judge me if you have to
I promise I won't be mad at you
we all have to do
what's best when we find our own truth
I'm not angry. I'm hurt and upset. I wish we were as good at letting go as we are at saying goodbye.
Open the door
Let in a new old friend
let's explore the concaves and octaves
that comes with thought and with actions
with words and with fractions
of emotions so eloquent
we get lost and forget
to remember we no longer know each other
It doesn't always take much to get attached but the falling off can happen just as quickly.
I don't write when I'm sad
but when I write I'm sad
and what's right feels bad
and what's left is a tad too sad
to feel happy or glad
so my words taste sad
at the end of the day
and maybe I've changed
my thoughts becoming strange
in a storm of sufferable pain
but I still feel that same
I don't know whats changed
but I know something has rearranged
how and what I see
so let's attempt to dream
with our eyes open to see
what we already faithfully believe to be
this amazing opportunity
to live free in a sea
of cordial uncertainty
but isn't that what makes us feel alive
I like challenging traditional structure but using traditional patterns within poetry. A message is a message whether written in a sticky note or delivered in an envelope.
Roses have thorns and violets cause violence
In the midst of a storm, everything is silent
I can reassure you that I cannot forget
But I'm not sure if it's out of love or regret
Maybe down the road, I will finally feel free
Or after time passes it will be the death of me.
I'm not broken I'm bruised
maybe a whole lot confused
and I wish I wasn't but I can't really help that now
you chose to take a step and we are past that now
I still can't admit that I hide
in a shrinking part of my mind
where I love the old you and forget I never knew you
I swear it's not fair to me that I can't talk to the new you
and I wish you hadn't become
this person so distant so numb
and yet as I read through old letters I catch a glimpse
of the person I loved so long ago and all the harsh hints
I'm not allowed to love you
there's nothing I can really do
I can't blame you for your heart but as mine falls apart
I wish you were here to show you my pain evolved into art
Don't leave me here to talk to myself
you left me in a hallway leading to hell
And you claimed I was too far away to yell
but I was right by you and you couldn't tell
Arranging thoughts to keep my **** together
an attempt to reassure that I will get better
but I think so much that my head hurts
you didn't feel right so you blamed my tether
I was just trying to give you a gift
something I never had something I missed
and you couldn't justify it so you just left
and not I am all alone with a hole in my chest
To exist in a thought,
Is to exist nonetheless.
To exist nonetheless,
One must exist all the same.
But to exist in a thought,
Requires a being to think.
And, for a being to think,
For that thought to be thought.
Requires a level of existence,
That must not be sought.
But rather exist,
On a nominal plane.
In a place and a time,
That cannot be named.
But there it remains,
This level of existence,
That permits the persistence of others existence.
My try at a little more fun structure, courtesy of Dr. Seuss