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it begins as a series of unfounded berations on everything; which in itself is a statement against nothing.

what really was needed was a place to begin.

there will be the ones who are forever lost in the maze of one's drunkenness.

in a way she feels like a drunken thought. spurted out without thought and then carried over to sobriety.

together with the ***** stained denims and the borrowed t-shirts (were they borrowed alright)

she can't be churned into the washer like the rest

she's out there burying herself in deep resentment

because she can not forgive me

she gave herself that disease when she refused to grant forgiveness for sins committed in anger

since when, though, has the truth ever been an offense?

cuts deep

deeper that the most merciful lies one can serenade her with

we can not have anything if we refuse to confront what is real

but ke?

what's done is done.

these berations on nothing itself

are all that is left

most of these things remain unexplained

the story in itself is synthesizing, everyday, unwittingly. unauthoured, playing itself out like water lazily floating down a river

towards a fantastic waterfall

or right into the mouth of a gaping, yearning sinkhole - where it will not die, but steadily keep propagating itself beneath all observance and veneration

and perhaps sip out from a well-meaning spring somewhere deep in the uncharted lands

it's like that. it should be like that. just as all else is what it is.
Sep 2017 · 167
Hiatus.
sometimes
i don't know
what
to do
with myself
Jun 2017 · 264
The Search
Like a pathetic attempt at
Grabbing visions of beautiful
Colour, beautiful violence
Of rainbows dancing in the sky, tingling the belly of the horizon
Lost in the glory of happiness.
Placed in blinkers and thrown into the search.
And it all completes
When all that is held are memories.
At last fake hope goes away
When lost in the maze of regret...
Jun 2017 · 216
Eulogy
I have buried you and filled your
hole with dirt
And on your grave I've planted
This ink.
One day a tree will sprout and on its leaves they will read:
'here lies memories unmade
here lies many things unsaid
here lies a lie
here lies me too, inside
with me is the man I was waiting to become'
I have buried you though you never lived
For now you are dead, dad.
Jun 2017 · 294
Cold Fire
A pile of dead embers
Glow
In the void
Of my empty heart.
Black fire burns eternally in my body
The memories we were yet to make
A time on the edge of forever in
Which we spoke of life and things to be.
Black flames race through my veins leaving me
Cold and afraid.
This cold fire that once was the beauty you inspired
Sustains me
and keeps oblivion away.

— The End —