Flames of Delirium 

So far I’ve come, since I first started, since I first lost myself

I’m still lost, but that’s not the point anymore, is it?

Because what does it matter, whether I find my way or become further entangled in the maze I fashioned once in a dazed state? 

You know me now 

And although I rest at the very bottom of the forgotten pile of fleeting thoughts at the back of your mind, 

I suppose I’m satisfied. 

And let me tell you something, something I’m not sure I understand myself yet, at least not in its entirety 

Satisfaction is not what I imagined it to be. It is, if anything, even more empty and unbecoming than the chase, for it begs that sharp, painful question–what now?

A question that brings with it, quite inconveniently, a battery of still more difficult questions: Where do I go? What do I do? Who do I become? Who am I, really?

Because the truth is, I don’t know. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now. And I don’t think I’ll know even when I’m close to the end, whenever that is, however that is. And maybe all of this was just a distraction my mind dreamt up to keep me from seeing how lost I truly was, and now I know again. 

But I can’t trivialize you like that, can I? You were, you are, important to me. You, or my truth of what you are and what you mean to me, taught me how to revere, how to admire and cherish for its own sake. You taught me how to believe, how to hope for something I knew I could never have and persevere in spite of that knowledge. You taught me, I think, how to love.

Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time letting go. Maybe that’s why I never really can. Because how can I release back into the universe what I found in its deepest hidden crevice when I most needed it, when I was so close to losing any hope I might ever have to find a reason to smile as wholeheartedly as you made possible, and wonder. 

Yes, you made me wonder. You made me pause, and think, and question everything I’d previously accepted as fact without taking the time to observe it objectively. You made me curious and excited, and dimmed my senses just enough so that everything else would seem brighter. 

So it doesn’t matter to me that this fire you ignited once inside me was burning for the sake of distracting me from my inability to piece myself together. It doesn’t matter that the fire serves no purpose anymore and that anyone in their right mind would know that the time has come to put these fiery flames to rest. It doesn’t matter that I’m supposed to be satisfied, because I’m not, because I’ll never be, because I’m human. 

So stay with me, now and forever. Invisible to them, here, by my side, inside me. You are my strength, and you are my weakness, and anything else I am remains in between. 

You are as real as the flames you are represented by, the ones that will burn on for eternity, if I have any say in the matter 

You are here, you are always, and you are mine

It doesn’t matter that you don’t really exist.

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.

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.

 

 

Gifts from the Ghost of Happiness Past 

You know those happy dreams?

The ones that make you sad?

Because you didn’t appreciate the people in them 

And now you can’t 

The happy thoughts and moments 

That break your heart

Because you didn’t soak them in 

And now you can’t 

Don’t you wanna hold her hand 

Now that you can’t 

And stare into those somber eyes, searching for secrets, until you can’t remember who you are anymore 

Don’t you wanna breathe in that compassion

That passion 

That honesty 

Where did the time go?

Is it slipping still?

How often do we make these memories

That never quite perish from our subconscious 

That linger somewhere in our mind 

Lulling our anxieties

For all of eternity

I’d like to tell you that I miss you 

That there are some things that I think I forgot to say

But the raindrops on my window are telling me that you heard them anyway

Enduring Loyalty, Wavering Sanity 

I wanted to tell you about the kind of music I’ve been listening to, how much it reminds me of you. You were right, the words are hardly as important as the melody and the way it makes me feel.

I wanted to let you know that I’ve been feeling less anxious about doing things I like, that I took your advice about doing shit just because I wanted to, because I can.

I wanted to say that I fucking miss you and that there isn’t a moment where your absence doesn’t gnaw at me from somewhere inside, I’m not quite sure where.

I wanted to tell you that things are different now and that although different might not necessarily be better, I’m not who I used to be. I guess I’m thankful for that.

I would’ve really liked for you to have known this new me, since you are largely responsible for her. I like to think that you are always with me, always watching, always smiling in that knowing way, always protecting.

I wanted to let you know that I love you, and that I know now what that means. I don’t ever want to treat you like a memory, because a memory has little place in the present beyond momentary acknowledgement. I’m realizing that a bond like ours doesn’t unravel in the face of something as meager as distance or time or reality.

I wanted to tell you that I’ll always be yours, whether or not you existed.

What’s the view like, inside your mind? 

“Do you think about it?”

“Oh, all the time. It’s the sort of thought that never goes away, you know?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“All sorts of ways, mostly sad. There’s this lingering sadness that functions as the constant backdrop. Over that, sometimes there is a moment of fleeting excitement, reluctance, confusion, happiness even.”

“Is that the only way you’re able to feel happiness then, momentarily and through connection with these thoughts?”

“Well, no. I mean, not necessarily. There are different kinds of happiness, aren’t there? I suppose I am able to feel other kinds of happiness about and for things entirely seperate from these thoughts. But no other happiness seems to count as much as this one. Perhaps that is because this sort of happiness is so difficult to achieve and maintain, it becomes more valuable to me in its rarity and mercurialness.”

Forgotten Apologies  

I meant to tell you before that I didn’t think anything mattered. I guess I meant to tell you that I was living, but that I didn’t think that meant anything.

I suppose I’d been avoiding having that conversation with you. The one about how I didn’t think that this moment was any more real than any other that had occurred, or that this passing time exists any more than something like a thought or a memory.

I’m finding now that it was wrong of me to hide these ideas from you, even if I meant no malice by it in that I supposed you were already familiar with the way I perceived the world (if not completely approving of it).

I guess I’m sorry I never let you know that I disagreed with your belief that we have a purpose, that your optimism is somehow more valuable than my apathy. Even more, I regret never making my emotions plain as I am making an effort to now, when you aren’t here to acknowledge my sorrow. I guess I’m sorry I never apologized. Alas, as you must now realize, I am painfully aware that my apology bears no more worth than its absence ever did.