I open my eyes to what seemed like my own
Persona hell. My hands bound, my eyes bloodshot.
Her eyes were brown and she looked like she
could be a nice person, If she hadn't just kidnapped me.
It was a simple november day, leaves swirling in the
wind, the smell of winter damp on now leafless trees tickling my nose.
I saw her from a distance waiting for me with a
wicked smile.
"Do you need a coffee?" Her voice sick and sweet
calling out to me.
I nodded because I was tired.
Very tired.
Soon we were sitting there sipping the cheap coffee and then before I knew it, everything was black.
Now we're here.
Sad, silent and tired.
My palms ice-cold and she held me.
Was she really so crazy?
I started to think maybe she was comforting me.
I grew to like that.
It never dawned on me that I had gotten Stockholm syndrome.
No one remembered me.
Yes , the old college good girl that she was.
She helped. She healed. I lived .
Mahogany girls will revive you
In a world of possibilities.
-
There’s a sadness that comes with nostalgia.
As you come to realise
The world you once knew is no more,
Colours run like paintings left in rain
Like chalk lines drawn on pavements
In places you spent your youth,
Now paved over in the name of progress.
The boy you were looked back
Over his shoulder to wave at companions
Looked back a man growing grey,
As grey as the world had become in between.
Perhaps still a prism of colour can still be glimpsed,
As light passes fading in the tears
On his cheeks and the memories
or the lost boys he used to Know.
In the end we all grow up.
We, Peter Pans, peter out
Grow old, bed and blanket
Ourselves with white lemon peel to rot,
The curse of failing flesh
Is all but inevitable,
yet.
It needn’t have come
To the washed~out grey
That crept into our hair,
Our faces, our eyes,
Our souls.
The colour ran but we could always run with It,
The past passed as we looked behind us for it
But we could always catch up,
The lost boys could always be found.
Aye, there‘s a sadness that comes With nostalgia
When you come to understand,
The loneliest feeling is
knowing you are the architect
of your own lost youth.
And suddenly it is too late.
-
Misconception Perceptions
---------------------------------------
We exist
In a world where they say aim big
but keep the scope of our thoughts small.
and on our way to that same moon they once said shoot for-
gravities spin, flipping parallel on its axis
as it tells us the shimmer of stars is the closest and best we’ll ever get;
which in turn is no more than a way
to romanticize the waste and garbage from dead comets:
dead effort and vision once dreamt and believed
conditioned to conditions forcing them to remain commitments unachieved.
disabilities are abilities offspring,
fully functional and once able,
disabled
by gutter chorded vocals
which have become gutted and irreversibly muddy
salivating at the chance to dirty purity.
don’t let their improbability have a chance at your probability.
freeness is being ourselves
come with prices costing what our existence currently is just too much:
change.
hence then for a smaller price we settle for identifying as anybody else;
never settle for empty pockets
offering no more than one or two senseless cents.
your presence is priceless.
.
Live
-
With you,
the floor, like an ocean of
Darkness
Is terrifying
to me, really, I fear what lies
Beneath the panels of carpets-
Eyes, glazed,
Sun's rustic,
Marooned, death,
Island's sand,
In eyes,
Rustic,
Rust,
Rusting,
Ocean's floor,
Dark, lonesome,
Carpets, soft
Sand,
Sun's spiral,
Sweet, powder,
Melting,
Sun's rusting,
Setting,
Rusting,
Rustic,
Death, eyes, glazed,-
It seems I look upon you
As you set,
And I apologise but you seem to be the same;-
RUSTIC DEATH
I watch the sunset
With glazed eyes,
like doughnuts they spiral
Into themselves,
An emptiness in the middle,
They suffocate the air
With their sweetness
and powdery forms;
I watch the sunset
with glazed eyes,
It seems watching it too many times
has made it not as mesmerizing
or riveting as it once was;
Maybe I should sleep earlier
So that a few days of rest may cause
the sun's maroon rustic death
to look a little more lively;
Glazed eyes
Watch the sun rest
for a few days;
My bed lies empty
With you in it-
For I seem to burn,
My sweet powder
Melts
to pool upon the floor
Instead of within the covers,-
PLACID
pansies pirouette,
they lift their pretty faces up
to the cerulean skies.
my pensiveness forgotten,
I turn to you with a promise
to remember you.-
What if all that I am is the weight my heart carries of the
poems I left unwritten fearing that every time I'd
try to go ahead, I'd just end up realising that I can't let
everything go already. I'd have to hold on to it until I
let all of it be shrouded in silent hopes and smiles that taste
like night dew. Sometimes dreams are just webs of blatant lies spun by me. They will cling to me till I
crawl my way out of there. They will make me feel the heaviness of iron rumbling in my ribs, so much
that my bones will break to its ringing sound.
what scares me the most is that one day this battlefield might become my home.-
I look back
at my past and relax.
Allowing the monotony to be symphony,
strummed from a chord
in accordance to a chorus of homecoming;
for everywhere I've been, noted high and low,
has led me right here.
I look forward.-
Let me go, Let me Go
You already know
I'm a grenade with no pin
Death of love is evident
I’m no epiphany
More free based hypocrisy
Let me be...let me be
Swallowed in self pity misery
Orchestrated carefully
I played you like the symphony
Till the curtain closed
Waiting for an encore
But the final act
Unforeseeable war
We can't all be saved
I’m no Private Ryan
Just a man slowly dying
While the cello reverberates reality
Baptism by denial
Hallelujah hallelujah
But I keep my head down
Walking away from this deserted mind town
Just a tumbleweed in the wind
Goodbye..again.-
Ambient overture..this song
A eulogy of what was wrong
The perfect fifth, the violin plays absorbing like white wine
Vivaldi's Four Seasons..l self destructed in time
Submerged in a dream
Black and white
Your color doesn’t fit my scheme
Monochromatic magenta
That fades at the sunset scene
I dug the hole,
Looking for light in a bottomless pit
A musician who played your heart strings
But only had one hit.
Now you think of me
Only on those moments
Reflecting "what if's"
Like an alcoholic recovery
[1/2]
-