To the center of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you. To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you. I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you. In a room with a window in the corner, I found truth.
Give me a plate of dusk for full consumption,
so I can grow to enormous size,
be gluttunous and despicable,
impenetrable and seething,
terrifying in my certainty and thoughtlessness,
some force to behold beyond measurable loathing.
Fear me, chide me, drill me down,
for I reign as worthlessly as the microcosm of my plight,
my ire torn beyond reckoning.
Into the twilight of evening you will take my anima,
out back amongst the warm blooded creatures who graze serenely,
and once you have cut gently into her skin, lay her down to wait for their coming,
to be taken before the sun rises in the gray sky,
taken far from the plane of despair and seclusion.
Let her fade, and let me go.
It matters less at the end of every night, this feigned deliberation of purpose, of an attempt at multitudes, of a forced lightness of being. The melodrama of yesterday dissipates in the romantic chill of those memorable evenings, and everything therein. The hour hand ticks forward without approval, and it all goes and goes and goes. Space is shrinking, the physical and emotional air becoming consumptive. A desperate sense of helplessness floats in the room, gnawing at heartstrings, beckoning for forgiveness while half-truths continue trickling in. Mind over matter, to be tortured in short order. Sense and sanity hold less meaning as the days go by. Dance in and around, away and back again. At what point do I succumb, and at what point do I settle into myself?
Life is pain,
the grace of a quiet moment,
a sentiment laid bare,
your hand in mine,
lain under the shade of orange green leaves,
the spots of sunlight flickering like diamonds across our skin,
the birdsong undulating around us,
here in this perfect equilibrium,
where things grow and remain in motion,
as we lie amidst the harmony.
I know my corner well, where the darkness veils just enough to make it welcoming but not isolated. Yet you have tainted this dreamspace, my abode of late. You came in with your dirty feet and tarnished my minute trappings, ripping my small works of art into shreds, demanding I confess to my wrongdoing. I have done no wrong except in acknowledging you for who you were not. I have known much misery by you, have known sadnesses a thousand feet deep in the blackness of the ocean. My melancholy siphons from one vein to another, flowing through the circuitry of my being, molding what I have become. I wish these sentiments on no one, as none deserves such wretchedness, such tightening of happiness. You are a cruel and dirisive being. May you find chaos in your hubris. There is no love left to share with you, for you have misused me too many times to bear. My heart has run dry, and I wish nothing but turmoil in your shortfalls. Perhaps somewhere at the end of your time you may find the acute and immeasurable pangs of self awareness dawn on every reprehensible fiber of your existence and only then may you go in a silent but fleeting moment of quietus. May your trappings haunt you like a disinterested ghost. You have no home here. Be gone before I set the wolves on you once more.
Shine in your pitfalls,
wander in your love,
give purpose to your confusion,
revel in your whims,
do this all in the confines of your desires only,
fashion yourself after your goddesses,
shape your thoughts to the wisdom of your wisewomen,
take not from the piles of uniform production,
not from the idle clouds of murky uniformity,
never from those who are all veneer and no heart,
remember to stay far from the fields of machina,
that whose coats gleam untarnished under the sun,
they will hinder your journey north,
follow the worn roads and walk beneath the sentinel boughs,
stay the path and move forward always,
you are more than you were yesterday.