#malaise
a man leans as i leave
the office building—against it,
dark and young,
his face has emptied
of expression, and innocence
has fallen away like drying sand from a stone in the sun,
i do not look at him,
in passing,
out of respect, i tell myself,
but know: out of fear
of connection i do not speak to him.
next morning, he is not
there is only a mound of sand,
which, in my name,
the city workers and the wind sweep and carry away.
Aug 13, 2024
Aug 13, 2024 at 4:27 PM UTC
If I wait to finish my
chores,
to finish my food
all the tiny
notifiers to my superego,
my id
would wither
music, writing, commiserating,
and commiserating
eight-fold path that could
fit in my pocket
I can play
Make children with songs
that have been inside me
half a lifetime
when I picked up an axe
14 year old me
Shyer in most ways
but bolder
in interesting ways
I walked the path
humming 4 noble truths
in between theses
erratic days
I lived a myriad of lives
I fear it’s all
swirling to be the same
Circles within samsara
used to last for
months now I’m stuck for
years
and I no longer
wish to become
unconditioned
Nov 21, 2021
Nov 21, 2021 at 8:49 AM UTC
The morning is cold.
Last night’s chill hangs everywhere.
How unwelcoming...
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 11:11 AM UTC
I wish my world felt tension.
For years I've felt guilt,
felt sorrow and regret.
These days though, I just feel tired.
Thusly so my spirit dreams on,
waiting out the days before change.
Waiting out the days before tension,
or whatever other blessed something shakes my world.
I wish my world felt anything at all.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 11:35 PM UTC
At first I thought I was born to succeed,
Which was good and great because I lack luster for greed
To give and to cherish was largely my creed,
Life blooms everywhere so why covet its seed?
For shame and for glory, my truth was a story.
A story, not a fable, one with use in its cradle
No. Not my truth, my feeble fiction. That to give and to gain was no contradiction.
With strong head and strong body I’ve wasted my days,
To think beau intention wouldn’t lead me astray.
You see I’ve done all I could in the space of this mind,
To unravel the hope to create world’s in kind.
Eureka! I had it, for one second’s perception,
A prospect in favour of catastrophic direction.
Though its gone I still taste it, like the vacuum in glass,
My pious mis-deception that my chance has not passed.
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 10:30 AM UTC
1:00 am, 3:00 am ... most nights,
thirty minutes without warning,
restless air, chokes the pipes
when controlled, it explodes in bits
of yellow, orange , dark red and gray
skull seems to crack ... or , is it breaking now?
a darkness follows a wheezing,
desiring to spew all malaise
expelling bad air, while chasing fresh air
praying a stillness soon rules .... . but , no,
the painful exertion persists
that disturbing noise just goes on,
and racks one's whole being ... one's world
every rib quivers ... every fiber throbs
eyes and veins start to bulge
as if to burst on their own...
,, ,, , for a while, a calm occurs ... yet ,
another dreaded episode lurks...
on a dark, restless night such as this,
one can only imagine
~ ~ ~ the undulating waves ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ and the blue waters ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ of the tranquil sea ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
Sally
~ ~ ~
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 20, 2019
#dreaded episodes #malaise #severe cough
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 1:39 AM UTC
Pigment of the evening
overwhelming, by thought
artfully winding, and weaving,
for naught.
Though your vision is endless
your colour needs work,
it’s drab, unto darkness,
your pallet’s berserk.
You must change;
You must change how you’re feeling.
From bottom to ceiling,
I swear that you’re healing.
Disregard the unfeeling,
forget that you’re reeling.
Do not be caught kneeling
in thoughts now congealing-
to naught-
but the pealing-
of bells;
Or be lost.
Not to life,
but to cause.
Draped in strife,
trapped in was.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
I am waiting to die
as I sit here staring,
blind, and uncaring
I am waiting to die.
For I once had dreamed
of a world where it seemed
that someone like me had a future;
I don’t
Though not for my failings
but simply for boredom-
as my mind is ailing
I pray for post-mortem.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
Eyes daze, pseudo-malaise,
The soft lament of wasted days.
Whatever needs be done be done,
As long as none insist on clearing
My veiling haze.
Dim those lights, turn down the sounds
My mind becomes crowded,
Elbows bruising.
The further pushed from,
The deeper pushed in.
Raised voices and wagging fingers
Have no effect but a
Deeper shove to the depths.
Firm hands held haughtily between strangers
A meeting with the spirit lost
To the deep end of the well,
The cracks in bone show age
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
The darkness warms me
A thick liquid covering my skin
engulfing every pore
Drowning all of my sins.
I couldn’t tell you what wings feel like
Or what a smile does to my face
I did it once and it felt foreign
But the wind swept it away
To float off as particles into the sky.
I laughed, it might have been yesterday
or a season ago
It didn’t penetrate into my soul
Nor did it let me inhale any pure light
Humans find it addictive
That bright drug.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
I think today
I'm gonna call in, dead
But, I'll be much better
Laying all day, in bed
I'll watch some bad horror movies
Maybe catch up on TV shows
Drink my coffee in my PJ's
Heaven, only knows
Those reports? They'll have to wait
I'm in no mood, this morn
My boss, a worthless ingrate
Maybe, I'll watch some ****
It happens, time to time
Listless, and lethargic
Not like it's a crime
Torpid and cathartic
The malaise, and the apathy
Not wanting to go, too work
I think, I'll still be dead, tomorrow
Using sick days, as, a perk
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
Whatever and whatever
indifference, apathy, and dispassion
wearing such disregard, is, the latest fashion
Don't show that you care
or have interest, concern, or regard
for anything, or anyone, not being avant-garde
The epitome of listlessness
detached, unresponsive, and aloof
desire in abstentia, the blankest look, of proof
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
It hides itself
Better of late
That old companion
In my shadow
That perpetual
Creeping malaise
Coiling inside my brain
Never springing
Only cr e e p i n g
Slithering
Mesmerizing
Paralyzing
Logic and common sense.
A lord of fear
Undermining mental
Immune systems
Playing my emotions
Like a violin concerto–
Devil's chord
Out of tune socially
Mentally.
But then I see her
In her vulnerable position
That sweet
Innocent child/woman
Who props up my remains
Who takes me back
To simpler times
And youthful joys
When the hooded cobra
Was in embryonic form.
This one constant in my life
Keeps the cobra at bay
But it waits just outside the camp
Taunting me
Whispering just low enough
So I can't make out what
It is saying.
But how can one make out hissing?!
When you were always told
That you are fine
Nothing's wrong
Maybe a little neurotic sometimes
What can you do?
Be reduced to a catatonic state?
Where can you hide but in your shadow?
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
Every night
Every smile you inflict me with
Takes another part of my heart
And everyday
Starts the same
I wake up dazed and aching
A numbed hurt and a little insane
Feeling a burn in my feet and a hole where my heart was
I stumble out and find myself following you
To the edges of the earth
Running to you
While you barely recognise
That I'm someone
Just in your rear view
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 7:15 AM UTC
Emperor patriarch enemy family
encyclopedia room flamboyance
and the minions of civilization bow
creviced foreheads etched
with hieroglyphic concentration
pantomiming the harmony of
banana splits dripping
on fireplace slippers
woven into the stories
your neighbors greeted you with
from the other side of the hedge
on the night the great comet arced
into our living rooms
and we kissed oh so
TV-like with the laugh track
clapping in time with the sprinklers
cha cha change the diaper ditty
after supper over done
under the influence
and in a fix
me another martini
extra olives
the smell of negligence
on her creamy pampered thighs
and the aromatic evidence
of lawn mower trim
on her teddy
bareness slipping away into comfort
the children wagering battle
plans with a mouse clicking
crayons left in box
cars matched tickets scratched
windows latched
onto
hobo toxic shock n awe
to see abandominiums
littering lots in crackopolis
virtual and simulated
between the in laws
and the outlaws
the grand apparentless routine
on display
could I borrow a toaster
or waffle with your wife
over the last stick of butter
backdoor banter about
Soldier of fortune
your last subscription
to the mercenary position of
the cul de sac coup d’état
taking place in spinning
class conscious of the fourth
estate third world second
generation first born zero
down home subdivisions
of the disenchanted
evening news is on excuse
that the whole thing is fixed
mortgages futures the lottery
tuition and everybody wins
army navy air force marines
corpses floating cross culture
reference guides to prescription
medication of futile society
Jonesing with the keeping
ups and out of product till
prime time reminds us
why we’re all here
waiting for the aliens
to excavate us.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
It's been a dark and ***** start to the year, and altogether
too many of my heroes are dead.
Too many of the old
villains too; those familiar monsters
are gone, replaced
by new and more appalling terrors,
as fear is rebranded for a freshly emergent demographic.
All the girls are much too young for me. Everyone
is too young for me.
When they speak, I hear
only static, like
the ghosts of extinct, pre-digital
TV screens haunting the
empty beauty of their
dead channel mouths.
In the supermarket, they've taken to
playing songs I like on their
in-store radio, wedged between
corporate jingles and adverts for
two-for-one offers on
hot dogs in jars, and I'm
so irrelevant I could cry.
I'm struggling with the world and my
own inability to find somewhere
I can be in it. I can't relax, can't
stop fighting against inertia, contentment
and any hope of peace. Maybe drugs
are the answer, but I think they'd just
make me forget the question.
I feel the cold, and I
want to sleep too much. I miss
my bad habits, but not enough
to relapse. I'm not
young enough or cute enough
to get away with
this much ******** angst.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 5:00 PM UTC
I used to be smart
I used to be strong
But these last few years
Have torn me apart
I lost who i am
Sometimes i think
That I've come to far
To find my way home
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
*Do you ever get the feeling
Of great malaise
Right from birth
Feeling displaced
Of being born
At an ill time and place
Waiting only
For our place in the dirt*
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
I suppose id say I'm a **** up
All the things I've tried
They all withered up
And died
I guess some people
Are just born to cry
Lie on the side walk
And slowly die
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
She sat beneath the high-noon blinds
The light too garish - spilling bleach
Not the soft song that falls behind
Far-off horizons of aural beach
No, this was hill-light - mountain-light
It was harsh, abstract, Cézanne
Cutting deep into each crevice - dust-mites
Irradiated at dawn
Overlooking every balcony
Of barking mutt - of barbeque
She craved for an epiphany
To change how she perceived the view
To find some meaning in the pools
The bars - the plastic awnings
She muttered, “I am such a fool”
Then took a drag and kept on longing.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:10 AM UTC
In day's prime, in summer's sweet eyelids,
Two lives arc, their eyes struggling to break a stare, sharing trysts through dulciloquent exchange,
After the deep blue blossoming lake. To avenge time, we sought it and drove our pupils
Down through the bluff and the green trees, limping past the arenose and albicant sands
Into it's quivering- I must say.
Hey fancy. You make me smile regularly,
I need you to know, because I don't always say so,
but if I didn't read what you write about
your interactions with life,
I'd definitely be not the half that I am of alive.
So thank you, from the perfume of my heart,
and the plastic that is my legs,
the opossum hair that makes me who I am,
and the light of my malaise.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC