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Dreaming Splendor

I can’t afford bed sheets or makeup.

Beautified dreams, somehow, still come easily.

Even in poverty, the luxury of abstraction

Soothes me daily, in depression or inspiration.

Streetlights on snowy nights

Hold more potential than money or connections.

Shadows in the urban landscape,

More real than set ideals or purchased thrills.

Somewhere is an inevitability

Waiting to be dreamed into vibrant shapes.

Magenta rain against black skies,

Sleeping bodies forgetting their encroaching doom.

I can’t afford bed sheets or makeup,

But in my mind, I repose against splendid fashionings.

The faintest glimmer of peace and satisfaction

Awakes, and gives me space to keep imagining.

Sensitivity To Warmth

I’m tired of being Imoveably cold

But Warmth doesn’t seem to care for me.

He prefers hearts easier to reach

Over those guarded under lock and key.

Real invigoration is so infrequent

It melts me beyond the use of coherent thought.

It finds me at my most relaxed

And shocks my senses back to full alert.

A warning; If Warmth can reach you,

So can all sorts of volatile expressions.

Good intentions can’t diminish

The fragility of your intimate dimensions.

Born to grave sensitivity

I easily shudder in the light of friendship,

And comfort myself solely

In the snowy luminance of reflection.

Ode To Dystopia

Idealism and romance raised me to care,

But authority raised me to be compliant and indifferent.

What forces us to conform and behave

Breaks our hearts and deadens our empathetic sentiments.

When you choose to live for love,

You’re at odds with all those who will take whatever you can give.

The Ideas you cherish like equality and justice

Only matter to them as weapons to be selectively implemented.

We take an unequal share of the world’s pain.

You can carry it as your own or you can choose to inflict it.

But the totality of human suffering

Rarely moves individuals as much as all the pursuit of satisfaction.

To us, who’re ruled by those who don’t love one another,

You’re more an idea or a number than anything like what we’d call “a life.”

You can’t lie when you’re reduced to an integer,

But you can’t assert yourself as anything worth cherishing either.

 

 

Depression Cycles

Silent waves sink perpetually through my chest.

Someone like me shouldn’t think too much alone.

Graves remind us that something can be nothing.

Something about you leads me back where I’d begun.

 

Lying to pacify the waves,

Dying to be worthy of my allotted time.

 

Wind and snow flow endlessly from my foundation.

Warmth and touch are more like burning teeth.

Better than wearing a heart that’s butter-soft.

How long can I hide from thawing in your spring?

 

Lying to savor little stops in my misery.

Dying a little more to feel comfortable alive.

A Lonely Reward, Cold Satisfaction

Listens to Lo-Fi on her phone,

Admiring the nighttime lights of the city

Through streets blanketed with snow

Where unknown treasures are buried.

Cigarette to her lips

Alongside that sensation around her face,

The teeth of wind,

Is all the satisfaction she can take.

To have hung on,

Lived to see another illuminated night,

Stress momentarily forgotten

Despite the punishing nature of her drive

Is worth rewarding.

She needs something, after all.

Time ever-encroaching

Demands a moment that’s enjoyable.

Dawn spawns the first shadows

As she reluctantly remembers herself,

Retires behind her bedroom windows,

And waits until she can escape again.

 

 

 

Eyes After Everything Ends

The houses rotted,

The roads cracked and slowly eroded,

Power lines toppled,

And trees retook the place of grass.

Lives had finished,

Completed, but never replaced,

Leaving everything behind

For the mildew and quiet to claim.

Everyone had gone,

And they left a fragmented remembrance,

The ruins of excess

And poverty adapted into shadow palaces.

 

When everyone goes

I only hope there will be ghosts,

So someone could see

The beautiful remains of our failures.

 

The arguments died,

All sides are eventually silenced.

Grief lost her way

Without any survivors to guide her.

Indecisions without resolve,

Like half-empty beds and unfinished poems

Revert back to objects

Removed from anxiety and desire.

Landscapes of thought

Retaining echos without sound.

 

When everything falls

I hope to see what happens then.

To see how unknowable

Our intentions and dreams become.

 

 

 

 

Between Us

Slow connections,

The kind that sink into you like a sickness,

Innocent conversations

That grow into hooks strung between our chests.

We understand our world

By seeing it through each other’s words,

Our gazes and movements

Imparting wisdom only we can comprehend.

Reason and purpose,

They’re ours as disciples of one another.

In peace or war

We’re formidable as fortified emotions.

Tragedy is our past.

Romance is our blissful tragic future.

With cake and tension

We unload and collapse in each other’s voids.

Our dresses complimentary,

My blue, your red, wrapped in purple sheets.

We own our faults,

Our secrets our own to whisper in confidence.

Shameless desire,

Alive and secure within our bounds.

Love Like Introspection

Could I ever be loved as completely

As the honesty of your sincerest introspection?

 

Mortality and eternity,

Subjects so situated in time

That occupy my emptiness

The way I wish I was admired.

 

Could I fill your mind

And terrify your sense of being

In such a way as to change

The reality of your inner quiet?

 

People are like night skies,

Shifting their position and meaning,

So when you gaze at me

I hope you think of what you’re not seeing.

 

We are mysterious and complicated things,

Too important for casual recognition,

And if I’m ever to be loved again

It must be worth our fullest attention.