Haunted I am a liar; this world will never exist outside my self. Unconvinced of my sanity in the smallest hours of morning, between alive and dead. Flight, not fight, is immanent and impending and I, a prisoner escaped, am ever transient. I've lived hard enough to know that too easy is untrue, and dreams are made for sleep. Life is liquid and, like glass, shatters when spilled. Collecting shards draws blood, stains the path, and the ebb and flow of time does little to cleanse. Still, I petition the universe, give voice to my musings, feed my vagrancy. Hopeful in my naivety that I am not lost on the deaf ears that are us. But I, as time ticks further by, am longer away. And yesterday has caught me. So again, I depart.
Sometimes life is water, and it flows until disrupted by stubborn aggregations of earth, which cause it to stagnate and burn up in the fire of the sun to become the air we breathe; and all of this is the spirit. Our subjective experiences are really all we have. It's been a pleasure adding some part of yours to my own. Thank you.
ahh, the flesh can only understanding earthly things. Hitting up the universe will fail you every time, it can neither see, hear, or speak to you outside your projected thoughts to it. good stuff.
Mislead He was vanity. Ever externally concerned. Straight machismo and Aries fire; "Fuego" they called him, of course, he burned. A bilingual arrogance: he'd say, smile, it's free. A mal tiempo, buena cara. Well, fuck off. Esta cara está cansada de sonriendo en la tormenta. His threadbare veil of cigarette smoke clichés fogged listeners' ears, obscured any noble intention. For their price he can keep his smiles and platitudes. Coño! ¿Y él piensa que soy nada? No. He's inane as a wax fire hose, and as hollow.
Your Ghost You still lurk in the depths of my possessions. Packed in boxes gathering dust, moved hastily in escape. Stacked erratically, not unlike your mind. Paintings borne of thoughts of you hang on walls, fading in the sun. I sleep on sheets we shared, and dream that you've shot me. And I took it all, but left myself with nothing. Starving the demons that cling to physical things. I've burned your drum and fedora, shampooed the mattress and shred your lyrics, and still, you find me with a post-it in the back of a forgotten notebook. And your ghost erases all my poems.
to your question in the other thread, no I don't do readings, but I thank you for reading them xd // Paintings borne of thoughts of you hang on walls, fading in the sun. I sleep on sheets we shared, and dream that you've shot me. thought this whole section was pretty raw, especially the end line that packed a colorful punch. I saw blood as I read that, staining the sheets. And I took it all, but left myself with nothing. Starving the demons that cling to physical things. I see some truth in this section and the whole thing in general,,,reminds me of fasting for 40days and 40 nights to not live in the flesh but spirit.
Fiction Lately I've been feeling more beast than beauty. Out of pixie dust and trapped in Neverland, I click ruby heels and wish for home, but home is only fiction. I'm Alice in a rabbit hole, stuck in this fairy tale. And fairy tales are more nightmare than sweet dream, I'm sleeping away the years under an evil spell. Daylight doesn't scare the witches or the wolves and there is no carriage to whisk me to a prince. No one calls out, "Rapunzel, let down your hair, let me get you out of there." If only I was real, not wood limbs or velveteen skin, but flesh and bone. I could maybe write a story of my own, a non-fiction for the archives, a happily ever after.
Fiction was like the inverted (or perverted?)fairy tale or anti fable, which provides all contrast to the normal gloss and glitter of the familiar happy tales.
Actually, the original versions of many fairy tales are gruesome and morbid. For instance, Cinderella's sisters were said to have cut off their toes to try and fit in the glass slipper. Loved the poem.
'Collecting shards draws blood, stains the path, the ebb and flow of time does little to clease.' Skyfire... yes I do remember flowing ~~*
