What Carries Over

Sometimes I feel better when I imagine my own conscious thought is all that exists.
The feeling of being a disembodied psyche in friction-less space,
Emptied of all but the most critical pieces of my identity
And reassembling my complexities into a more beautiful shape.
As many times as I’ve done this,
There are thoughts and patterns that persist through me,
Some I’ve cherished, others I’ve hated,
And some I couldn’t understand or even properly explain.
There are pieces that never seem to come unstuck,
Fears, attachments, and my deepest memories.
There are images and vague connections I retain,
Like pen-strokes which remain even after they’re scribbled over.
A vague, off-beat rhythm seems to drive my actions,
Unfocused or out of sync with the environment I’m in,
Curiosity, obsession, and paranoia distort my tempo,
Playing my own tune, in spite of what drums beat around me.
I’m liable to fall carelessly into the beautiful or intriguing.
My heart snaps alert, when a note, by happenstance, complements my own.
There are ideas, perceptions, and sequences of thought
That feel more like hell and like home than any real place.
Whatever I do or imagine myself to be,
There are elements of myself that remain true.
Burdens I carry, gifts likewise treasured,
And I expect they’ll remain until my mind is permanently changed.

To Humans

I write despite my overdue silence,
In light of my grudges and slights,
To enlighten the thoughts and emotions
I’ve reserved for my own contemplation.
Having distanced myself so thoroughly
I’ll admit my lack of comprehension
In matters I’ve never engaged in
Or only watched from my privileged shelter,
But even when I detested you,
Counting myself among your kind,
I couldn’t help empathizing
With the burdens you’re seizing under.
It’s easy to criticize your failures,
As I’m sure there will be more,
And judge you in harshest terms
For the cruelty and neglect
You imbibe in endless cycles.
I’ve wanted too much from you,
Expected things that seem trivial,
Like a respect for shared existence
And the universality of feelings.
You break hearts too easily,
And I know they can be brittle,
But I could never quite accept
Your ugly side with ease.
Your shallowness and petty conflicts
Routinely, it seems, betray innocence
So the gentle moments you all enjoy
Are wasted for inane reasons.
You neglected me as so many others,
But I know I’m not superior.
I’ve shared your burdens
And your entitled sense of indulgence,
Took things because I wanted them
And disfigured what you thought precious.
I’ve tasted the light of hate,
The bittersweetness of callus violence
Against myself and others,
And I’ve made my justifications.
As much as I’ve despised you,
Forsook your feelings in light of mine,
I never lost that vague connection
With our sublimely tragic condition.
At your best, you make me love you,
Creating your projects of passion,
Embodying your best ideals,
Making fantasy almost tangible
And creating art from your pain.
I want to love you every second,
To comfort and be comforted,
Inspire new ideas
And converse about our tragic past.
I need to feel something better,
And I know you do as well.
For our sake,
I hope you can save yourself
From the overbearing nightmare
You’re still busily creating.
I can’t hate you any longer,
But I cannot help hate your stupidity,
Or the dismissive simplifications
You project on everything you see.
Like an addict without hope,
Burning bridges just to feed
That passive will to power
Or to distance insecurities.
You could be something beautiful,
But it’s hard to picture you
Facing up to your flaws
In any meaningful way.
You could bury yourself
Alongside your egotism,
Proudly burning us to ruin
To say you died without mistakes.
If no choice is made
We could end ourselves swiftly
Without ever really perceiving
Our consciousness in its true light.
There’d be no one to tell us
We didn’t learn from our imperfections,
And the other forms of life
Wouldn’t miss us for a day.
We’ll be what we will be,
Our beautiful tragedy,
If that’s the way you want it
I’ll be here to see it pass,
But I’ll always remember,
And I’ll probably regret
The possibilities we lost
And the parts of you that I respected.

The Paragon Of Human

Truth, love, and beauty;

Passion, lust, and touch;

Sensitivity to sensation

And paranoid towards trust.

Entertaining daydreams

Like therapy with dolls

With such awoken eyes

Searching for the cause.

The ends and the extremes

Blend and balance well

With the overactive mind

Imprisoned in its shell.

From lofty declaration

To the bitterest debate,

Through endless troubled minds

And self-deceitful hate

Are woven little strings;

Patterns evermore complex

Down crevices of ecstasy

And mountains of distress.

The paragon of Being

Human always more or less

In chaos everlasting

Till blissful stateless death.

Burning or cradling,

Tender or rough,

Knowledge and wisdom,

Too little or too much.

One without another

Like everything is not,

As love is to lust

What gotten is to got.

And yet,

I wish you well

Please feel better

Keep me warm

Kiss me deep

Fall asleep

Let it go

Stress no more.