Fragmented Fondness

 

Inconclusive

Fireworks

Blackness happens in explosions

In your eyes, where the magic is born from butterflies

Never healing the pain that comes hand in hand with sentience

 

We are amidst everything

Nothing

All the same

Bumblebees buzzing, carrying messages to the faint-hearted;

Telling them to stay strong during this time of uncertainty.

 

We are not destined for liberation, not in this lifetime

I don’t know how to fall out of love anymore

Not today, I can’t forget you today

 

Your many faces are blurring into each other

But, the same every time

Kaleidoscopic visions roll their eyes at me, chuckling

I never really knew you

Not really

 

Fading, messed everything up because I could

Never said hi to you either

You wouldn’t have liked me very much anyway, I think

It’s all kind of useless I guess

Sadness is necessary, he told me

“Gives life purpose, don’t you think?”

I don’t know

I don’t like the way it feels though

 

Conversations rising up into the air like cigarette smoke

Dip into the ashtray and leave my sighs to cool down there

I’ll want you whether or not it’s good for me

First impressions are hilarious aren’t they?

Sword masters weren’t appealing upon first glance

You were an acquired taste, love

 

Get close enough

Let me scrunch my fingers into your hair

Smile with your soul, boy

With that radiance

That unapologetic candor

All black everything,

No ivory to dilute the darkness was ever found

Except for the soul,

The soul was grey.

Skewed

There is a disconnect between how things were meant to turn out and the way that they did. Of course, who knew she’d make it this far? She certainly didn’t. She is black to the core, in the most uninteresting way.

She doesn’t know what to make of the life that she didn’t ask for. She doesn’t know how to treat the people who only use her for decoration in their absurd itineraries. Not now, anyway.

The universe was taunting her, and she had given up trying to fight him. “Let him bend me until I break, let him laugh as he may” she resolved.

Everyone. Everything. All of it. None of it made sense. Everything is skewed, it seems. And she is lost. She is at a loss for inspiration, for love, for satisfaction, although there is nothing left to attain (realistically).

But what is reality, anyway? What is it made of? Who does it affect? Could she count herself in?

Because time was swiftly slipping away, and she was wasting it counting stars on the canvas of her own fantasies. She only wanted what she couldn’t have, a specific star. The one that was twisted, bent out of shape, all wrong for her–the one that was furthest away.

She wanted it badly, more than she had ever wanted anything, she wanted it before it went supernova and ceased to be what she fell in love with–although, she might still adore it in the form of stardust, out of sheer respect for what it was.

 

Viri-descent

Everything hurts.

Shattered bones further disintegrate, until they form a powdered ash of pain

boiling in the cauldron, I lean over and allow my tears to fall in,

Further add a lock of hair from the Mistress of Folly

Now I sigh in it

It bubbles over, ghastly green

I pour it into a glass, which shatters from the heat

I consume it all, the mixture, the shards of glass

I deserve this pain, I’ll make it last

I transform, finally, as I was always destined to

Into the thing I once adamantly proclaimed to hate the most

Unkind, selfish, stubborn, alone,

I regurgitate my heart and see it writhing on the floor

until it stops moving once and for all

I compose myself and gaze into the looking glass,

What once was innocent, shall never be again.

Particles 

Nothing, 

Everything,

Sometimes.

Where’s the gray area? Is that where you live? Somewhere absolutes don’t necessarily exist? Where it doesn’t have to be this or that, here or there, now or never.

I wonder about memories sometimes, about their structure, what they are. Are they individual universes? In which I can perpetually walk into class and take a seat behind you, in which you haven’t yet realized what life will become? In which you are silent, observant, innocent, wise, beautiful, magical, idescribably painful in your unattainanibility?

Where does it end? Where have you gone? For in the present tense you are not who you were. I guess none of us are. And so those universes, that remain in my mind, where those scenes are played out again and again on a continuous, eternal loop, that’s the only place it exists anymore–

It is unique to my consciousness. It ends with me. Hope. Particles of hope are scattered all over this constructed reality, intangible, the result of an explosion of desire that was never meant to achieve anything. They float, like dust, in the atmosphere, in and out of my universes and those of these constructed realities–they are not biased as you and I are in these things.  

Phantasm

Down where my thoughts come to me in waves; smooth and coarse, gentle and turbulent. I’ve never felt lonelier, I’ve never feared myself more. I’ve never respected my right to be as much as I have been lately. I find shelter under the open sky, refuge in the emptiness that suffocates me. And I just wanted to tell someone about it– about the beauty, about the pain, about the nothingness that stitches it all together. I am here, nowhere, and I wanted to ask you about whether or not that was okay.

I guess things happen, and our interpretation of the world around us is nothing more than a mirage stemming from the universe inside us; we see what we want to. And whether we are whole or broken or dust or fire means nothing to anyone else and their reality. I am alone, you are alone, and I don’t think it helps that we face each other as we live in our loneliness. You cannot penetrate my mind unless I allow you to, only I live here. Only I live here.

 

 

Cultivation of Pain

Newfound radiance, I’m learning to feel again

New set of eyes, I think I can see again

Though lost still we remain

Something slowly emerges from the ashes 

Hope 

And hope rises 

So too do we 

 Up and up, higher 

We are elated, for the moment

Let’s enjoy this 

He is there 

I am here 

We remain seperate 

Let’s learn to make our peace with that

Peace we used to know

Peace we are learning to cultivate once again

From the pain 

Yes, 

Let us cultivate hope and peace from the pain we didn’t know what to do with yesterday 

Let us give it purpose 

Melancholic Madness 

It’s really all very horrible, the way things happen. Life sort of just runs at the speed of light in circles around you, expecting you to somehow be able to keep up. There’s a sense of urgency poking at you somewhere inside. Either there’s something missing or there’s too much of everything, you are suffocating regardless. 
Breathing gets more difficult, until you just aren’t able to do it anymore–you just sit there, unable to scream or move or be. You can see the dust in the air float as the sunlight shines through the window, there are brief moments of pleasure. But those go away, and they aren’t quite as close to the happiness you know you must’ve felt in greater amounts at some point. 

There are no tears, there is no remorse– this is a different kind of pain. This is slower, intangible, invisible, but very much present. The air clutches your throat and demands you to live, and yet, refuses to release you from its grasp. 

Why?” 

I don’t know. That’s the worst bit. I just, I don’t know. I don’t think I can. I try to find peace in believing that it wouldn’t matter even if I did.