I want to drink coffee
and lounge in grainy languor in black lingerie
i want to
sip russian milk
while i spill my feelings to
a wordless abyss
that seems to care
for the children of it’s infinite circumstance
and infinite opression
replace chemical connections
with synthetic sympathy
and fabricated feeling
i want to contemplate this conundrum
evaluate the effieciency of empathy
but I’ve only got 5 more minutes
This Nothing is addicting.
Tiptoeing through hallowed halls,
With Nothing mounted on the whitewashed walls.
Bare white concrete:
Less than linoleum floors.
This Nothing is addicting,
i want for Nothing more
none of this is really very good
When i die drape me in gold like the pharaohs
Bury me with tokens of my taciturn truth
Carve my stolen words inside my coffin
Raise my lies
Praise my lies
And lay me on my left
So the devil will catch my good side when he opens the lid.
You can see my heart beating
Watch the fabric of my shirt quiver with the palpitations
Sometimes I just get this way
When my hands shake
And my knees quake
And my body trembles.
The light is too bright for me,
The sounds too loud,
Your voice too abrasive,
Like rocks on sandpaper.
I try to ride the wave
Try to be brave
Try to act like
Nothing is off kilter…
But for the next thirty minutes
Give or take an hour
My world will be on a slight tilt
Thoughts like headlights flashing in a dark alley:
Signifying something solid that I’ll never see.
Symbolizing something stationary and stoic.
Ideas are insubstantial
The world is wobbly
I’ll just have to wait this out.
I halfway believe it was Jesus
who told me to put down the cup
he told me to reflect
to evaluate the paths my life could take
and then he said
“You’re lucky to be on the path you’re on. Don’t you dare fuck it up.”
I never used to fear death.
That was when I thought I knew what it was. I thought I comprehended it. I thought I understood.
But now, the concept is beyond me.
Looking back upon my short irrelevant blip of a life, i feel that my time is passing too quickly and my proverbial night is no longer young.
I see the dawn rising, i feel the harsh judgement coming.
I’ve missed chances, I’ve made mistakes
I feel like my window is closing.
And though I’m only 17, I feel like I’m 70
Exhausted from running on the eternal hamster wheel
Unable to function. Trapped. Unable to escape my predicament, or even to assess it.
It’s all over my head, beyond my ability, beyond me.
I just kind of hate stuff sometimes
I feel so patronized
So pushed aside
I sometimes feel like I’m looking through
Fingers on the window sill
No one else can see the pain
The window is one sided
You only see the darkness
The opaque surface
You may perceive the ripples in my placid lake.
But you can’t see the tears that caused them.
Why is life in slow motion?
A potpourri of feeling.
Sensation so intense, and yet strange.
It creeps slowly throughout your soul like a chill. Oozes into every pore. Permeates Physicality. Sets every follicle on electric alert. Crackles lighting through your toes
You can’t close your eyes
You can’t stop screaming
You can’t extinguish the fire
As you fall into a deep abyssal consciousness
A new plane of thought that exists only for the split second between twilight and dusk
Where a new epiphany is reached
And a new clarity felt
But it settles on the tip of your tongue, and is lost to the last second.
sleep tempts me like soft lips at my throat. calling to a deeper place whispering sweet nothings.
comatose, i want to be. immobile. deaf. hidden. a video of my soul on pause. with the world, my world, paralyzed with anticipation as to when we wake up.
we stretch. we rediscover our entire world as we know it. for memory is imperfect and sleep is what makes it so. sleep corrupts reality. bends time and space. makes the here and now mercurial and subject to mood swings. we rescan and paint a new picture of the world every day.
minute imperfections bypass as our brain constructs an amalgamation of memory that we take to represent reality.
in short, we see what we believe. reality may not be so real, which is why sleep beckons me.