Desires of the night
Bloom in solidarity
Our solar-paneled minds
No longer absorbing
Inconsistencies, but running
On the fumes of
Out effervescent entities
Desires of the night
it makes me want to cry
in diluted tears of home-grown spices
metal wings to fractures blue
screaming high above the rapturous agony of toiled soil and familiar smiles;
eyes of the misconceived that breath the lies you force feed yourself everyday through a routine screen
and yet you understand the meaning of normalcy
a falsified legacy of doubt to seed inconvenience
collective solicitude brooding thick swollen droplets to fight against instinct
each and every one if us on the brink of veiled reality
yet a blind stumble away from omniscient entirety
you were the ocean
I was the sky
and when my tears
fell down upon you
into the depths of
simmering until my
sorrow became a part
of everything and
washed away in an
infinity of blue
saunter below the
A grand mistake, a fluke, a fake,
Our importance which we strive to make.
‘It’s in your hands’ we call above,
To some higher power most fein to love.
Yet masks are minds that meld our fate,
There is no God, just our lives to take.
Together we hold the power of all,
You were not a lapse designed to fall.
They tell you this is home.
A petri dish consumed in all you’ve known.
With rounded opaque walls to be a screen from which you see the rest of the world:
It’s fallacy wound tightly in the seams of thaumaturgy, the swirling entropy dispersed through captivating clouds.
And yet it becomes a catalyst to the unimaginable existences you descry through shaded quixotic conviction.
Woeful within the artificial domain from which you stand, and bares no escape.
So you quail beneath the strain of realities undoings, falling on buckling knees into the corrosive sanctuary Where you simmer in cascading fumes of accustomed cerebral tribulation.
Purge, deplore, endure.
Glimmers of haptic possibilities will heed numbed incentives as dusk cycles,
Everlasting despite the ignorance of your invested reverie.
To long for something you have never truly bared witness is a cruel fate indeed.
Watching through innocent eyes that scour, or allowing words to flow like a fountain through your mind.
Such beauty! Such wonder! A great maze of emotions, a floating rapturous flutter!
Oh, the desire for this it consumes you inexplicably,
Nagging through ghosted touches that blend into a burning melancholy nostalgia.
How can one crave what they have never had?
It is irrelevant, preposterous, but thus is humanity.
Souls skirting to reach for the next installment, to gorge and dream for what is not there.
And so we suffer in this unquenchable silence,
Floating towards nothing; locked in a coherent lair.
She could never quite settle on any one decision. Her thoughts floated around like one blows bubbles; some evaporating as instantly as they are conceived, and others lingering around just long enough to believe they may become permanent before finally reaching the horizon only to silently pop and disappear. This made the future all the more ominous for her. Not knowing what she wanted from one minute to next defeated the purpose of structure… of society no less! There were untold rules one had to follow to remain being a part of such a superior collective entity, the majority of which allowing each individual to advance through stages. Stages which she resisted with a transcending concrete fear. She did not want to follow blindly like those around her, but knew of no other way to survive in the world we had created. The footholds of personal expression she yearned for still existed, yet had been placed out of reach; an escape route cleverly disguised and dismissed as fleetingly dangerous. Because who would attempt to grab hold of them when there was the possibility that they would fall?
Adagio; bowed strings displaced in pressured sweet strums,
Composing listless fingerprints trill,
Quaking geography undone.
Canon, atonal; a gauntlet of luxurious rapture,
Where divided seas sail,
A harmony captured.
I’m sorry for not being perfect. I’m sorry for disappointing you.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Sorry for still trying while you cried. Sorry for the splinters you got from using me as a crutch all these years. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being sorry.
Sorry for changing while you were gone. Sorry for my happiness, for my smiles, for not giving in when you expected me to. Like I would have. Before.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry even if you try and forgive me.
Sorry for finally thinking about myself. Sorry for caring so much. Sorry for sharing my soul with you. Sorry for assuming that ‘this’ was something more than it really was.
I’m sorry, sorry for the days I filled that hole you keep hopelessly abandoned. Sorry for the decades you suffered on my behalf. Sorry I withered under the cloud of this toxic environment. Sorry I let myself believe that there was a chance.
I’m sorry for ever doubting you.
Sorry I ignored what was always there, flickering in the tired shadows beneath my eyes. Sorry I don’t know what the future holds. Sorry that sometimes I get sad too.
I’m sorry the world isn’t what you expected, but that it can be still just as wonderful as you once believed it to be, but also just as dark. I’m sorry.
Sorry there isn’t anything more to say. Sorry that people die. Sorry that dreams collapse, sorry that you ordered your sandwich without cheese and that is definitely cheddar. I’m sorry that irony is such a common theme in our society.
Sorry he broke your heart and I lack the emotional consistency to glue it back together.
Sorry that I can’t go back in time and fix it for you. Sorry that I don’t want to fix it because it’s what brought us here. I’m sorry for not having the motivation to grow up.
I’m sorry for worrying about things that haven’t happened yet.
That may never happen. But I wish they would.
Sorry that I don’t fit your cookie cutter shape. Sorry I don’t want a desk job in this vicious cycle. Sorry that I’d rather go see the world then stay with you. I’m sorry for taking my time. Sorry for wanting this esoteric adventure. Sorry for rejecting you. Sorry for not wanting to be that girl. Sorry for digging my own path with shovel of voracity.
Sorry that your scars still burn and drag you down with them.
I’m sorry for telling you that you weren’t enough. I’m sorry we only have so long, sorry it has to end eventually. And now, I’m sorry that I’m not sorry anymore.
No ephemeral asylum from fervid logic can repulse such membranes.
Hereafter mistaken for misandrist moments corrupted by punctured veils
Of inept amplifying essence.
Nuances— same sentry separation.
Biology torn for the shame of rightful expression.
Neglected revenants turned unanswered questions;
A silent collection.