Most of the time I’m drinking two cups of coffee, one cold, one new, and thinking about a recent lull moment I’ve had.
Wondering how far I could’ve gone down the deep-end; just self-loathing once again.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t taken a nice self-reliant drag of a cigarette in a while,
and this whole quitting-for-health-reasons-phase isn’t so much a phase anymore than just a new subject in another new chapter.
I have the gut feeling that I’ll continue to find the urge to accept the vices of my tendencies, to feel like I can rearrange the past with a
new cigarette, a new hope, and an old faith embedded in my veins.
You clenched my wrists like a post-dramatic experience. Every scene you depicted with those eyes reflected a bigger picture in my senses; with sonorous laughter you beguiled my lips into the shape of your choker. You insisted on driving every Tuesday evening, even when I imposed my backseats having more leg room. When you’re driving, I’m mentally falling in the deep-end, with perfect form. With one hand invigorating percussion taps, your hand grazing my leg like it should feel safe here, and my other hand independently pulsing an undercurrent of impressionistic tendencies with an imaginary brush; the drive devours our void, and the silence of our sound souls, with a timbre that rattles tendons, the beloved sun-drips into your pupils and yet again the reflection of your vision, portraying the frame that I’ll be determined to die for.
She held my hand as I guided her through the grey. It was all I could ask for,
if this were a thing I had thought of before,
This appeared from beyond my dreams,
as she says,
was from them.
She, the abstractionists.
Me, the existentialists.
There we were, dark, cold, and complete.
Receding thoughts that we emulate,
disastrous neurosis, insofar we loathe compromised,
with morning sex and daydreams of regress.
The scenarios once made up,
once gave celebrity status to our recent attachments,
find it on the notch of our bedframe,
as a reminder, that nothing last longer than the salutations of the actual moment,
time slows down when we recollect a time it once happened,
we can harness the once felt memory,
experience is drawn further away from our memory,
and there’s room for change,
and emotion, motionless,
we may feel,
and only wholesome thoughts come into play,
we’re not so much dismissed by the inconclusive, but the entrenched factors,
that smokey rooms entail,
when we’re not physically there,
just text me when you get home,
and I’ll trust myself to not,
break the sentences with misspelled cursed words,
I’ll send you a thank you and a nice to know that you still think I’m the best you had.
A journey sends us many directions,
this one instills hope,
in my soul,
I’ll find the words etched away in sand,
and this time it won’t wash away,
but so be it,
that the wind does,
as nature does,
I am more than this, you know? I am more than what I say I am. Like others including myself, I have been given a chance into discovering myself a little further. I gathered the strength to turn around after “almost” falling off a cliff, or drive through the tunnel instead of away from it. I have felt the wind take a hold of me like it loved me since I was born; it told me to hold on for a little longer. Saying, she’s out there, and she’ll bare your children. Your children will run through this field, where you remain in a contemplative
state , and they’ll never know how you felt here, but you can show them how to let go, and enjoy life’s greatest blessings. You have experienced it for this purpose of “knowing.” Don’t be naive, says myself, don’t think you’re just here without question and reason. Don’t think you have to rid yourself because you think it’s better to let a soul escape. Yes, it’s best to let go, but hold on and embrace the valuable moments you’ve yet to experience. You’ve made it here, and you’ve made it with the help of others. They deserve to see you happy for they’d want the same from you because you’ve helped them. You’ve been gifted with the mind and body to experience, and the soul to grow and become revolutionary, in this world and for the universe to come.
Inertia,committed suicide by nature.
Enveloped my soul that,
lived in purgatory,
returned it to the sender,
where I eternally,
Futures not achieved are only branches of the past: dead branches. – Italo Calvino Invisible Cities
Think outside the box.
It can mean revealing the seminar of contradictions and sermons that constitutes conflict, within the subconscious and coherent mind. It is because we, as individuals with an unknowable state of transcendence and asceticism living in a compressed, but growing universe are bewitched by a society of fools, jokers, innovators, and the damaged. We have become a paradox that’s become entangled in repeating phrase after expression after repression, insofar leading to multiple revolutions, and then we become reborn again.
What are we without our land, without our country, without laws, without our people, without our homes? Now ask, what constitutes land in the context of a country in the context of laws amongst people within our homes?
It’s everyday nuances, nuisances, and random moments that can enlighten us from the everyday coma.
speaks to me in the way the sunspots,
to the darkest pupils of entranced eyes.
Injected like morphine,
your soul seeps into the soft tissues of
my skull and the muscles constricting
while you’re puncturing round after round of poisoned virtues,
heavily loaded in the heaviest of pallidness,
laying on a hospital bed,
I’m clenching for balance as my soul’s levitating from the soil.
Within a connection, within.
Everytime she blinks, I see it in my peripherals and I think she’s taking a glimpse of her man. I’m hers, but right now the music playing is hers and I’m solely her vessel, the waveshaper manipulating the essence of an aural beginning, and present.
Everytime she turns her head, I want to relieve her mind for that fraction of a second and answer all the questions she’s ever had, or grasp that one meaning that’s she’s been looking to explain..hmm..what’s another meaning for a ‘connection within?’
Everytime she looks at me I feel my soul delineate and she leans in for a kiss.