Do We Still See?

I’m afraid for us,

That your passions have made you passionless

And your blistering avidity for life makes you blinded

The goals and ambitions so tangible in your heart

But the obsession diminishes your perception

Things you used to love fall behind.

I can remember,

The ideas and predilections that once defined you

And the potential conceptions half conceived

When settling into a niche seemed unbearably futile

But we imagined for ourselves endless possibilities

If life were but a stage as we believed.

Do you believe?

That life’s confinements shackle you to this specialty?

That to overcome your demons you must succeed?

Perhaps the struggle to overcome defeats the purpose

Or maybe you’re just not as cynical as me.

When curtains close, we’ll sow as has been reaped.

 

 

 

 

The Weight Of Melancholy

The melancholy burden that I’m bearing

Like the nihilists famous heavy stone

Struggling arduously up every day’s mountain

And every night clinging to the point where I fall

Romanticized masochism  is a strange comfort

It only works outside the moment of pain

Inside the laborious hours of my punishment

My greatest strength is to appear numb and vain

Disguising every feeling but my vile contempt

Hiding every weakness but for the fact I’m weak

Clinging to attachments but never hold them down

Never allowed outside me, but pining for release

Stoic, like a martyr without any good cause

Proud, as if shame were not prides real cloak

Damaged, un-admittedly as though it weren’t obvious

Sad, for everyone to see and for no one to know

If the hills were hollow I could sleep in them

Instead of tumbling down every jagged plateau

If madness and the void were reconcilable

I could easily have done what I’d supposed

I cannot feel glad for Sisyphus

It seems stupidity is an inherent fate

And I cannot lament my tragedy

Not while I continue to dig my grave

I could easily suffer better for forever

And hope that someone feels for me and sings

But could I relinquish struggling and just show you?

Would you survive through all my secret dreams?

 

 

 

 

Places Where Nothing Matters

The desire to escape drives me towards the places where people do not gather.

In the remote and desolate deserts where the sun is still a master,

To the damp and foggy forests where the soil traps in moisture.

My sub-conscious needs pulling towards where people do not matter.

 

Every place with roads and rules implies a tacit social consent.

Mobility, morality, and my mask are part of that.

Society is life always in a partial state of restraint.

That’s why they taught the meek that they should be content.

 

For those who do not thrive, they say adaptation is the key.

Learn to see yourself as something you should be.

Intelligence and deviations combine into misery,

But you can’t escape yourself, so you’ll end up in therapy.

 

Or, you might escape somewhere in so far as you can imagine.

If remote and desolate landscapes please your palette,

Making you wish there were more spaces like it,

Even if objective reality will never make it happen.

 

Day dream illusions, substitutions, the unfulfilled hollow.

Placate and sedate if you need the escape.

The best places are where nothing even matters.

Swallow the pills and forget about your fate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Doll

Miss. Luscious, the porcelain beauty emblem

Plasticized and commoditized for their convenience

Re-dressed, repressed, made up with makeup

Displayed in lavish pageantry  with fine lace adornment

 

As beautiful things are jealously guarded

The Doll wrapped fresh, in moisturized flesh

Dressed as regally as any aristocratic darling

Possessed as preciously as a Paradise Lost

 

Patterns and shapes form in still minds

The Doll watches and waits behind it’s glass

So the masters who greedily horde their pets

Observed through heavily lidded lenses indisposed

 

On an unsuspecting night of lax consciousness

Porcelain fingers wrap their way around knives

And dragons that sleep on their piles of gold

Wake to find cold cutting metal in their sides

 

Dolls always smile with the faces they were painted

And they only repress as is needed to survive

Glass cases and ribbons may be used to restrain them

But you cannot assuage the specter that’s inside

 

In A Fantasy World

The stress and drudgery of the waking world

Draining life from the body as time depletes

Constant demands for more money and labor

Driving the cycle of efforts to bleed

And bodies that strain to maintain their position

Hold minds that are pining to wander as they please

In the confines of those physical prisons

Are dreams and fantasies burning for release

She imagines castles carved into mountainsides

In a majestic woodland with enchanted streams

With friends of all kinds, shapes, sizes, and genders

In renaissance dresses, residing at ease

Magical flowers in their abundant gardens

Crystal clear water in natural shallow pools

Adventures every morning and parties in the night

Never needing, never bleeding, never forced to be a fool

The time never passes and their beauty never dims

Their bodies never tire and they’re never out of love

The characters inspire and are always entertaining

And life is but a dream from which they’re never waking up

She imagines all of this, as the world demands some more

As she struggles through the constant fatigue that is her life

Spending her strength while her muscles bruise and sore

And the body is used and exploited without respite

The hours burn away the flesh until expired

Without any comfort in those promising words

With only one desire, to die one day in misery

And wake to be free in her fantasy world.

 

Troubling

Troubling signs

Finger-pointing, recklessness, and lies

Contradictory perceptions abound

Niceties as discrimination in disguise

Hollow words drowned out in the sound

Troubling signs

Bad arguments, old fallacies, and fears

Paranoid daydreams spreading thick

Dysfunctional allegiances adhered

The hierarchs appear to be sick

Troubling signs

Dogma, propaganda, and pomp

Countless irrationally vain expressions

Too much invested to be stopped

Stakes too personal for discretion

Troubling signs

Regression, obsession, and pride

Paranoid realities asserted

Religion and neurosis coincide

Hope, love, and life inverted

 

Still carrying on

Trouble and tumult breed excellence

Sagas of struggle must always be told

When death and injustice are eminent

Ideas and ideals are all that one can hold.

 

 

Fragile Fragments Of Tender Hearts

Tender hearts wash ashore

New arrivals in our play

Unashamed and unaware

Drying on the gentle beach

Looking backwards and ahead

Forming bonds and memories

Unafraid to be betrayed

Loving, hating, carelessly

 

Time a most patient teacher

Humans, the most untamable beasts

Tender hearts encased in glass

Shattered, battered, then repeat

Chances taken turn to naught

Trusted loves will turn away

Fragments of a fragile heart

Burn and bruise and then decay

Deepest wounds we hold inside

Scarier than the loss of blood

Guarded hearts in metal boxes

Too dangerous to open up

 

Battered hearts all locked away

Sick, imprisioned, they will stay

Escaping is the only way

To love and hurt again someday.