The saddest realization of all: that happiness does not breed romance. Destined for solitude until the need arises. A meaningful day within a meaningless life. I accept your cordial invitation to a humble doom - to always fall back in love. A wolfish grin tailored by sheep.
Category: Poetry
The poetic expression of my artistic and aesthetic pillars along with some choice mixed-media.
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Soft Landings
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aside over soliloquy
Something inside me used to be angry; I gnawed off it. Something to listen to on the way to everywhere - nod with it. Some pills that spilt over my bedside nodding off them. Every now and then I don’t hate myself, but not often. Flash - the lightning grumbles. Crash - my thoughts crumble. Something inside me remembers the toast, shit, I'm not with it.
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IDKWNTHT, but,
Do you ever wonder, in a million voices screaming at you; hey, why am I such a loser piece of garbage? And you know, you know, it’s coming from somewhere - past, present, whatever. Then you realize, it’s just one voice: it’s just yours. Even as you write you know you know you can never share this because relatable trauma only, please.
-
down
I catch myself wanting
to break this bottle
over the teeth
of the fence directly left -
to sit and cry
a little,
but I’d just go back in
and buy another.
Also, I gave up crying
for lent,
permanently.
Hit one on the first floor,
because my muscle memory
says, “down.”
Have I really become so afraid
of intimacy that I’d sabotage
anything resembling
just so I could go get let
down.
How that bell rings
around my head:
You have it in you to die,
coward,
but not to live.
You’re lucky my guilt
outweighs my disgust. -
The Butterfly
Another stop, a diversion, another roadside *, the last great, big, ball of barbed wire. *attraction. On the way to your comfort zone: *deep sigh* and streeeetch - going; what grew inside you, found you missing.
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No Shows
Nah that’s cool, shrugging lazily and only half joking. Several seconds pass, many long-winded metaphors, and eight god damn whiskey sours later.... Like eating grapes off the vine. It tastes less enjoyable, but overwhelmingly natural. Like a coke dealer on a netflix binge: three days with no sale, in love with the 80’s, pass the ice. I spent that time listening for someone to yell, “Stop!” Dispassionately poised for an assault on my character to my back and everything else to my face. Nothing happened, but dammit beg, for the question you already know: the fleeing happiness, asking instead for accomplishment and society’s benefit.
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