Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.  

As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .  

The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .

Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .

Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation.  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.  

In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .

Repression is everywhere .  Repression is so common it is almost impossible to avoid .  Repression can be found in natural laws ; gravity is a repressive force .  I experience a desire for repression when I consider the possibility of extra-terrestrial life .  Propaganda is a form of repression when it eliminates unwanted truth ; militaristic logistics require repression of the extraneous.  Social hierarchy is only as good as it is expedient ; credibility is the key .  Psychological repression can be a functional personal tool .  Repression is a frictional force that can either eliminate unwanted forces or alter their courses .
Repression is most often thought of as a governmental tool .  There are many reasons a government might want to repress it’s subjects .  In a truly free government no one can practice repression on others of no consent unless they have infringed on their rights .  Fascist and socialist governments can force their people at will .  Their children are trained both  directly and subliminally in order that they may better fulfill their social positions .  In free countries laws repress repressors : people who might want to tamper with your rights .  Monopolies get repressed because they tamper with the people’s right to a free market competition
  system .  The individual reigns and the majority decides what is best for everyone .
The elimination of all unwanted repressions is the natural goal of all individuals yet repression is common the world over .  Social hierarchies necessitate repressions ; expedience in teamwork becomes more credible than individuality .  Many sociological forces create their own realms of repression ; the normalcy demanded by tyrannical governments and puritanical religions are obvious examples .  
Any retrospective examination of human history that is depthfully complete will probably bring to mind a vast quandary of opposing forces beyond social integration .    
           Personally  I find people to have a vast amount of basic similarities .  We become alienated from each other in the application of our abilities .  In fact each and every one of us live in a realm that is totally real only to ourselves .  I find this and similar states of social fragmentation to be one of the most pervasive observations one could make about the state of the human race .  
The tabula rasa state of man is an evolutional being ; a conscious realm that became out of dirt , water , sunlight , time ; an essence that has an innate quality , a cosmic continuum .  The historical development of world religions paints a vivid picture of man’s desire to relate to this tactile awareness .
There are many forces in the universe that we as humans need to repress .  Unwarranted or unwanted forces encounter natural resistance .  Humans learn to control their conscious state as they acquire maturity .  Natural repressions grow out of an understanding of the need for them .  But humans are not satiated with pragmatic self orientation .  They are easily misled by the perceived nature of their unconscious state .  The perfection orientation of Adolf ****** gives a stark example of an institutionalization of one of these warped images .
World religions also are often abortive of individual aspiration . Of course more often than not their impetus factors seem at least partially acceptable .
Practicality dictates that humans be self orientated in order to achieve their optimum state , but what is self orientation ?  Humans exist in both a conscious and unconscious state .  Individually we all perform many subconscious activities on an inadvertent level .  Although many of them are autonomic defenses we can exercise control and attempt psychic clarity .  
Actually repression is something that each and every individual must put down for themselves .  Although social expedience creates an environment that is conducive to itself , individuals have an innate need to repress certain of their psychic phenomena whether they are created by their environment or well from within .

Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .  
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved .  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility .  Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation .  Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .  
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .

The concept of a whole person is an enigma that evolves within a culture . Often it is not a transitive concept and can only be conjuncted within it's social setting . In fact the realities of social fragmentation make most all concepts of a whole person universally inapplicable .

Literature is often a good tool for developing an understanding of a culture and it's inclinations . In a cultures folk tales , plays , and fictions you find authors making a deliberate attempt to portray the basic dramas of their society .

Greek myths are a vivid example of this ; they are literally frought with characterizations . In their development these multitudes of characters weave into an elaborate tapestry that depicts the developing Greek moral ethic . The intricasies of the analogous content are brought across in a multitude of forms . Names were very important and a major force in clarifying the concepts being presented . The multitudes of characters portray a multifaceted understanding of the human psyche . The chauvinistic banality of their culture and it's gods is graphically depicted against the backdrop of their developing ethics .

It is difficult for a modern man to construct a vision of a whole person from a strictly ancient Greek point of view . The obvious anachronisms envolved make such an attempt partially ludicrous . Contrarily the bulk of their characterization paints a vivid picture of their primative social state .

Of course while the Greeks were muddling through the multicolored quagmire of human frailty many societies where learning to master the powers they had developed through centuries of strict adherence to religious and social mores . The development of their socially biased realities make many Greek nuances seem decadent anachronism . Rather than deitizing their baser natures as the Greeks had thay had learned to master them and turned to new paths to clarity . Spiritual pragmatism and lack of comunication nullified the social attributes of many of these extrapolations on positive orientation .

Jung preaches that man has an innate need to assimilate all external sensory perceptions . I find this untrue . In fact I find it self abortive . Human beings have a complexity factor that is individual and must be protected from overload ; man's moral ethic is a tender and deludable feeling directed by empathy . In the hectic world of modern mass media this tender individuality can become dwarfed by the percieved need to obtain social acceptance . Whole civilizations have become deluded by the flow of their complexities into an outright denial of their moral ethics .

I find this partially estranged condition prominent throughout social history . Children are brought up to respond to a vast realm of presupposed social ideologies and are not allowed to venerate themselves until much of their conscious matrix has been established . This of course makes self evasion an easily attainable goal . Sometimes politically speaking the actual goal . The mind satiated by it's social framwork is the ideal tool for a socialistic or tyrannical government .

To me the value of social history lies not in it's application as much as it's illumination . All the fragmented pockets of human coalescence should instill an understanding of man's posibility factors . Man's inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his annihilation .

Modern man has learned how to use tact in instilling the acceptable social mores . Solviet psychiatrists have spent years on perfecting these social sublimations ; children learn how to make their personalities conform to the accepted mean . I think that the true nature of a well rounded being lies in an ability to reject the fragmental nature of these instilled mores and develop a more universally acceptable social orientation . Does the son of a ku klux **** member have to hate blacks ? The obvious answer is no ; contrarily socially acceptable orientation is a product of environment . This is the pitfall of man's evolution as a race ; his inability to rise above the quandary of his immediate surroundings with all of their overwhelming complexities and demands to become a cognizant and empathetic being . There in lie the keys to his future .

This does not necessarily define the well rounded person . A well rounded person must be able to cope with his immediate surroundings withoutan abject denial of his empathetic being .

I believe well roundedness lies in thoughtful orientation and a well centered understanding of self . One need not be socially active as long as they are thoughtfully cognizant . Obey the golden rule ; you can not allow your objective orientation to supersede your subjective empathy . You can't allow yourself to be thwarted or overcome by your peers into being something they might want to make you because temptation may overwhelm them and you will become a transient tool in their succession .

Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse

One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference

To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes

Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus

That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation

Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies

For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation

An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions

Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses

As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet

Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression

Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity

In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry

The obligations of a universally shared human existence

Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims

For the enigmatic logic of life

Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought

From Everywhere and for Always

Think back to a time when the world was innocent
When the sun didn't torture
Think back to the last time your smile wasn't a lie
I bet you can't
You live in your plastic world
Where nothing can be tarnished
And a single dent in your flawless identity
Is worse then ******* the oxygen out of a child's lungs
And devouring their soul deep within your selfish throat
My identity is full of darkness
Yet it's required in your presence to find a positive light
It's exhausting to pretend, it's exhausting to see your perfect face
Because you know what I'm never going to be okay
I hate how it's okay to be happy
Because happiness is only meant to leave those who are unfortunate enough in feeling it more aware of what it is like to want to watch the life drip out of every pore that freckles their skin
How can you possibly understand?
You wont until you blow you're life away because the only time you felt pain you couldn't handle it
I guess it's just a perfect ******* day for bananafish
boom

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~
alone and an imposter,
deep in syndrome.

she absorbs the frost of seasonal ghosts
and hopeless feelings
of death and darkness.

she only shows one side of her every time.
she calls a random number
from a bar in the middle of the night,
seeking to confess
or find solace in the voice of a stranger.

but any stranger might just happen to be
a lie detector.

still she lays bare all the duplicity
and fragmentation of self:

prescription bottles with two different names,
elaborate façades in Los Angeles
and in New York,
so complicated she creates
something she calls the lie box.

inside her purse there's a collection
of file cards. "I tell so many lies," she says.
"I have to write them down and keep them
in a box so I can keep them straight."

alone she waits for either
sweet apricity or identikit:
each a memento of her faces.
~

She reached out,
her hand mangled and twisted,
bones protruding,
fingers broken and bent.

Her voice rang,
throughout the heavens,
radiant sound,
disrupting the gods in their thrones.

She pointed at me, with a torn finger, and spoke,
"They are all just the same, so reel them in."

SCHIZOPHRENIA
A long-term mental disorder of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation.
http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/

Thank You Dearest Readers

Thank You Dearest Readers! I’ve created a poetry story but you make them alive
I’ve nearly give up along but you encourage this poetry story to survive
Every read, every vote and every comment counts
Driving my head into full speed, dancing non-stop in a beat of a beautiful sound

Thank You Dearest Readers! For all the love and care
Your simple words of saying “stay strong”  I feel them really I swear
Yet this is only a poetry story but to me most emotions are true
I’ve been to the darkest clouds but somehow you clear my gray and blue

Thank You Dearest Readers! For all the ideas and corrections
Pointing out your views truly help me travel to a right direction
You really deserve my respect and admiration
Adding some flavor to what I’ve baked, a sweet cake with dedication

Thank You Dearest Readers! How I love to shout out your names
To all of you who helped in one way or another and played my sport your game
My Dearest Readers, Thanks for a beautiful journey
This is “MY SCHIZOPHRENIA”  and this is MY STORY…..

Until Then…
Love n' Care...

Mysterious Aries

THE END

Our nation is
a living organism.
Alive with biochemical
pulsating cells.
Apoptosis,
a cell death
of our nation
are set and
already unwittingly
programmed.
Takes a
multicellular effect
if not checked.
Cell changes and
death is eminent.
Changes includes
blebbing,
cell shrinkage,
nuclear fragmentation,
chromatin condensation,
chromosomal
DNA fragmentation,
and global mRNA.
Apoptosis ,
a falling off occurs.
Our nation is
threatened and going
through same
process as above.
Our acts must
be put together.
There is a
suffocating,
crippling misery,
and destitution.
We are desperately
sliding both into
chaos and despondency.
We must get
out of this
cloud of frustration,
with a profound
physical presence of
sour people grieving
daily,
Don't let them
become too rotten
to infect everyone.
It may be
contagious.
All ships must
sail in one direction,
Or very soon
we all go down.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

how long to live through the next thought
to have a brief encounter with time
an impossible time of intolerable anguish
where embarking upon a sentence
is a violent wrench from perceived notions
of reality, one that causes nerves
to flay upon my body with weal's of words
where vatic poetry is wrought in trembling rages
spilling, dripping upon the traumatised
parchment that is my pages
in de-congealing interrelated drops of image
that crack the pavements
in a visual vibrancy of taut creative tension
where these words keep their own company
and speak in interrogative tongues
causing a fragmentation of earthquake fissures
to radiate across my mind in a cataclysm
of universal poison that quiets and dissolves stability
and asks, no demands of me, what can you see?

As cliché and dumb as this may sound, you made me stronger. You taught me that no matter how much time and effort you put into a friendship or relationship with someone, they will eventually leave. The promises and pleas become part of your past. You were toxic; a manipulative *******. You were a pathological liar, a pretender, an actor, a game-playing *******. The fact that I relied on you and put most (all) of my faith into you makes me sick. It's unhealthy and I won't lie, it damaged me in ways that I'll feel forever. But it also helped me. I used to think that I'd never be okay if I didn't have you to rely on. But, these past few months I've realized that you can't count on anyone. The people that wiped your tears, patted your back, and scared the monsters away become the reason for the scars on your wrist. I hate that I let you do that to me. I was blinded and as a result, I have a few scars that will always remind me of you. You are toxic; a manipulative *******. You are a patholical liar, a pretender, an actor, a game-playing *******. You're sick, but who isn't? That's no excuse. You are an excuse-maker as well. You're a good for nothing loser. But, you were good to me in the beginning. I was broken, and you nursed me back to health. So thank you, and *******. ******* so much.

Blond hair
Chuck Taylors
Boy multiplied by three

Morning Dew
Dirt clumps
Darkness covers everything

Things that are seemingly "run of the
mill", " normal", and "mundane"
May also be the precise source of
someone else's pain

Consciousness fades
Pain grows
Body can no longer fight

Invasion within
Hope retreats
Mind and soul take flight

None of us can presume to know the life
behind one's eyes
Let us "break the cycle", "be kind", and "love"
Then maybe, our scars will naturalize...

It is a vastness of cerulean,
A pool of blue which surrounds clouds that are strewn together.  
Tumbling, accumulating, towering formations of remarkable depth and awesome beauty.
Billows which blanket and envelop a sphere of life, turning the almost infinite and indefinite blue to grey,
Massed with the heaviness of forthcoming precipitation.
As time turns, and the big blue planet rotates, sunlight is reflected and refracted by particles unseen—painting swelling clouds with pale yellows that bleed into succulent pinks, deep reds, royal indigo, and then
The flowering violet of conceived night.
The sky portrays a huge entity, a formation of solidity and stability.
It does not contain, nor withhold from the terraces and crevices of the Earth’s surface.  
It is as close to infinity as the basic human mind can grasp,
The uttermost extension of one’s realm of existence.

To look up at the stars is an annihilation of Ego,
A humbling reminder of one’s relevance,
Of one’s fragmentation of being,
Of one’s essential insignificance in the immortal turning of the deep and everlasting vibration of the Cosmos.

Stars, barely conceivable at times,
Act as portals to the past spilled carelessly across an inky nighttime sky.
These subtle flecks, minute glimmers of incredible explosions, are billions of light-years away
Across the fabric of space and time.
The sky is an incredible portal to those things outside of mortal grasp,
A manifestation of all that is unknown, yet shared by every state of consciousness.  
A familiarity and a comforting reminder of eternity that will exist far beyond the human experience.  With its undulating formations, precipitation, protection, and sheer exposure,
It is a paradoxical beauty.

Too early in the morning
the ghosts fly fast and hard
Emptiness in the headlights
the hollow sigh of the heart.

So much for letting go, dear,
Memory has an iron fist
their steel cased lips have ****** me dry
Down the lane's no easy trip.

Guilt and ache come one and all
I fall silent but the radio's loud
I couldn't have it another way
one's enough, and two's a crowd.

So much for letting go, dear,
It seems I'm too far gone.

Working
night and day
acidified muscles
curved fingers
being
in resistance

a state of
complaining
the tongue
swollen
painful red
blistered

too much
antibiotics
killing the scream
for liberation
the big bang of life
is suffocated

existence
on mother's breast
or
being bathed by amniotic fluid
doing the best
to avoid the pain of birth

maternally
no disclosure.

© 2014 Marialenn

There are too many things to unsee in this city,
the night street holds dark memories;
traffic jams, phones blaring
the static complacency of the bourgeoisie,
faint screeches of beat up vans
and tire explosions, schizophrenic
sloth of industrial machinery
drilling roads, houses, three metres apart;
the fragmentation of the nuclear family -

if only life were a gothic fable;
we would all be mythical
deities to the dark regions of earth -

for the night is oceanic,
Atlantic, revolution
turns upon a fixed axis;
tonight’s ocean
opening, first ionization,
breath as oxidation -

the middle
the midnight

in the air where the air is alight
and the light contains substance,
the fine saturation of salience,
lust for dopamine, we light

the silk in the fire, remember the earth
spirals around a sailing sun
like a strand of DNA,
everything circumferencing
in swirls of cataleptic cinnamon,
and we are space dancers,
free in the infinite,
the embroidery of all edges,
small, but
insoluble
and dissolving.

I remember
Wine in solo cups.
lights in May
and smoky breeze.
bodies sliding
in the cold wet
with Lights
in the sky.

Dreamlike,
Druglike.

I remember
sweet, burning
water
down
my
throat.
Fire
falls into
the pit.

Dreamlike,
Drunklike.

I remember
darkness in the
light.
Light in
Nakedness
and soft embrace.

Dreamlike,
Fading.

I remember
kindred spirits
together in
fragmentation.

Dreamlike,
Gone.

A blue sun beats down from
An electrically charged sky
I step into chaos an exodus
Towards the wastelands of

Fragmentation and depletion where
Fictions are invented daily and all
Images change where the shadows
Of life disappear in desperation

Where blood drips from eyes
Into a cataclysm that waits
Strung out in the black void

Clock hands attach themselves
To my mind piercing sentiments
Of shame

They elucidate the journey from
The external world seeking sanctuary
For visions that have been thrown
Dashed against bare brick walls

The ultimate realisation of imaginative
Truth shatters in torment falling sprinkling
To a festering ground proclaiming the
Dominance of emptiness

The conscious ambiguity of betrayal
That deforms corroboration creating
Untruth/ the derangement of qualification
A dialogue with the unknown gives

Birth to fictional facts of unsuitable
Confrontations of displacement
Back to imaginative reality that
Feasts on the trivial the banal
The ordinary and the mundane normal

I take steps into the space others
Fear to occupy become inside
The incantation of a new dimension

An actuality they brand as madness
Yet I am ecstatic in its awareness
This shall be my retribution
For who shall be judged

Ha, illumination is timeless
Has no master they can only
Speculate about the unknown
Its infinity

It is all the imaginations I possess
That shaky bridge between worlds
Where I take my heels my mind
Cannot be redistributed

I have lived through a disturbing night
Now move into an equally disturbing day
It is here I know I will die

Glass wasn't made to shatter;
Paper wasn't made to tear.
Fragmentation is a side effect of carelessness, not of life–
Not of love.
A rose is not meant to be crushed, pulled apart petal by petal, simply because it is soft.
The doe, graceful and wide-eyed, was not created to die at the hands of a man indistinguishable from a snake in the grass.
The monarch does not flutter with lithe wings to be caught, classified, and pinned to a page,
Nor do the leaves change hue, turn crisp, and fall to be crushed beneath an entitled foot.
I do not paint my eyes so that you can watch me bleed black and gold down my cheeks,
Nor do I wear my heart on my sleeve so that you can rip it apart valve by valve.
I am not your window pane, nor your blank page; your willow tree, nor your frozen stream.
I am the rabbit sleeping deep in her borough; I am the bluebird flitting between trees.
I may be fragile, but that doesn't give you permission to break me.

Dubious sense of unresolved ambivalence

Given to implausible suppositions of fragmentation

That distinguishes itself in well meaning solemnities

Of delicious incompetence that evaporates distance

In its poignant lament of darkness

That shadows words of cruelty, indifference and rage

Oh how unbearable those misadventures of piteous overthrows

That cram into brief utterances more meaning

Than language can hold and force a confrontation

Of unresolvable contradictions hidden in such speech

That are the stilling of time, those words that find expression

In a mystic power that transforms darkness into intense light

Whilst blocking out the harsh unforgiving light of everyday

And causes mutation and change of place in disorienting fashion

In seeking a loyalty of angers by shifts of dramatic register

Views its own meaning unstable and problematic

In defense of its own legitimacy

I see fields of grey metal grass suspended on columns so one can walk underneath
This metal grass is blown by a slight green breeze and sways to and fro
Sharp growing swords, sabre sharp, spike from its gray clay
A blue sun beats down from an electrically charged sky
Now I feel, I must, compelled by the most insatiable of urges
Step into a chaos an exodus
Towards the wastelands of fragmentation and depletion
Where fictions are invented daily and all images change
Where the shadows of life disappear in desperation.

They scream, shout and swear

To emphasize an emptiness of cocern

Which includes a compliment

Uttered thus in blank verse

That effects in ambigious contradictions

To sustain a wave of insult and injury

In obscure fragmentation of mind

That replicates an abundance of inrigue

Where plausible reason is not made possible

For the expression of strenuous protest

That would secrete itself with morbid indulgence

Upon the tongues of others to command a strange silence

Like that shouted by the seeker of an Apocalypse

Slander wears no muzzle
Fragmentation
Void of couth

Shove born from a nuzzle
Insinuation
Shoddy sleuth

Guilt turns into guzzle
Fermentation
Robbing youth

Scattered jigsaw puzzle
Imagination
Pseudo truth

No lies can bind the hearts of all
No anger heals the scars of all
No ale can hide the shame of all
No eye can see the truth of all

Welcome to my dream

I found my voice.
It was in between
vivid dreams and
(voice)
tainted reality.
Dreamers dream their lives
away.
Reality is scarred,
stained,
with sullen grey clouds, filled
with all the disgusting
regrets
Waiting to unleash its hell
on the unsuspecting day.
My voice is slowly slipping away.
Have you ever had a dream?
One that you wished would
push reality aside.
Keeping you hidden.
I am waiting,
to pour myself out
to those I wish could.
Listen to my oncoming storm.
Clashes of white-hot lightning
One in a million.
I am going to play
the odds and
God willing they’ll be in
my favor.
Living in this lucid dream
of mine.
The only thing I truly own.
Here I can be
the Supreme
Being.
Life will only get better.
I know it will.
There is no need to second-guess
the decisions.
That brought us to this poem.
Where others see nothing,
I see destruction.
Crumbling and decaying
as you dance through.
A torturous waltz.
It is time for this dream to be vindicated.
Waiting to be rebuilt…
Begging for me to care…
What happens if I never wake up
from this dream?
Would it matter if I stayed here
and rotted away?
Becoming a fragmentation of
myself.
Lifted up to Heaven on a
dream.
Invading my solace
I will never forgive you.
This blantant disregard for
any emotional attachment I had with
you.
If I stayed here,
would you even notice?
Give into the easy path.
The path carved through
broken trust,
jaded love,
misplaced sense of self.
You’re selfish
And I am angry.
That my dream is ending
with you stuck inside it.
Dreamless nights turn
into an unforgiving reality.
The storm is here.
My voice is gone.

i hung myself
from your lips
the first time
we kissed,
a transcendent
moment, shining
effervescent
as the sun.

love was the rope
i wound into a noose
on that rooftop.
an audience of stars
looked on, voyeurs
lightyears beyond.

years have lapsed since then,
but i return invariably
to those moments we spent
absorbed to the point of ecstasy
as if time were a flat circle
and i was meant to live eternally
caught between the fragments
of those seconds.

fixated by the temporary transgressions
we permit ourselves
every few months.
revolving like a planet
tethered to its star
by the insistent arms of gravity.
we're partners in crime, stealing borrowed time,
trying in vain to recreate
the first fissures
of a friendship
that fractured our lives
like a fragmentation grenade.

consistently,
i become convinced,
as time moves on
and i remain transfixed,
that maybe i was meant to love
but not be loved in return.

In the shallow capacity of a dream

Whose nightmare is compulsive

Whose argument is a melancholy

Of intoned attuned contradictions

Of that which is arguably another

With an express made more sober

By an emphasis of obscure fragmentation’s

That effects, in ambiguous contradictions

Mists that conjure in artificial reluctance

An unwrapping pretense that grows heavy in the palm

Making sleeping bruises weep

Those that have placed themselves

By treaty or inheritance upon a soul

And embalm a presence

On announcement of resurrection

For those who awake

Your giant leap for mankind
Was my exile in a pillbox
A stasis of dead-ends and
Reckless door-knockers
Undifferentiation
Hallucination
Annihilation
Apocalypse of self
Over-man or Under-man
Can’t hide from the super-group
Who prematurely created him-
A slave in their time loop
Moving to keep from standing still
Blame it on a quicksilver mind
Day or night it’s machinery
Starving to be bled and blind
Initiation
Fragmentation
Annihilation
Apocalypse of self