What Do You Know?

Confused and/or vain,

Evil and/or repugnant,

Count the discrepancies

And steel yourself for more.

Perceptions are abundant

As insults and judgments,

And finding fit words

For yourself is a chore.

Impressions are often biased,

Labels often fall short,

Even platitudes of passion

And support miss their mark.

Life would be so muddled,

So indiscernibly complex.

Simplicity is transgression,

We’re beyond light and dark.

Solitude in expression

Mirrors bolder without eyes.

Honesty is easy

With an audience of one,

But self-revealed truths

Fall flat upon the senses

Leaving deep and shallow guesses

The best from anyone.

 

 

Secret Plague

Nobody knew

The extent of the infection

Brewing deceptively

Beneath heavy lidded eyes.

Neurons distorted,

Broken down, reassembled,

Gestating contamination

In unsightly disguise.

Nobody knew

What sickness subverted

Their pallid perceptions

And drowned them in doubt.

Walking around

As raised from the dead,

Buried in the head

And lost their way out.

Nobody knew

Who they should find

Or what sort of mind

Gave voice to their soul.

Helpless health

Sealed snugly in disease

And quarantined beneath

A plea to be alone.

I Wish I Could’ve Been Myself

What was personified and what was genuine

Are so terribly mixed, I’m unsure.

That which bewilders is beset

With doubt between what’s real and pure.

Make-believe and masquerade

My many truths beffudled in mystique.

A sample of a splinted soul

Shrouded in saturations oblique.

Deciet drawn with smiles

To distract from fractured truths.

My naked self encased away

In case of breakage or missuse.

Secrets so nobody knows

The depths of misery I contain,

The shame and weakness

I consume and in my fear sustain.

I wish that I had been myself

But being myself, what a mess was made.

A look beneath my stained visage

Betrays the oceans I’ve kept restrained.

It’s coming soon, I must confess,

My will and levies are going to break.

So when I finally be myself

My tears might drown away my aches.

Maturity

Maturing day after day,

“Act your age” is just a phrase,

Natural action happens regardless

Of any percieved phase.

Growing is a pain,

Transition and change strain

Established habits so well

We almost break.

So laying awake,

Dreaming of a peaceful state

Like youth in love with death

For innocence’s sake.

The world shapes,

Hyperactivity anticipates,

The mind trys making sense

While feelings ache.

Some things fade

And sometimes we come late,

But forevermore ageing

The Act remains the same.

 

Streaming Life Anywhere

Judging value

In indiscriminate measure

Through the process

Of identifying constants

Amid variable personas.

Chaotic babble

Interwoven with emotions

Clouding personallities

In insepid debate

Signifying little.

Introspective hell

Latching onto safe platforms

Expressing the darkest depths

Of existential dread

In idle whispers.

Entertainment

Like an inconvenient memory

Signaling dire warnings

As questionable information

Presents itself in lace.

Daydreaming watchers

Wondering within access

On the possible implications

Of life on Mars

Or anywhere.

Complexity breeds

As simplifying destroys.

Any and all answers

Wither on

Or grow away.

To Never Be Preyed Upon

To never be preyed upon

I learned

Either hunt or be hunted.

Be the breaker or the broken.

Swallow your sentimentallity

Or suffer.

Locked away in vaults

Of cold cruel steel,

Behind bitter dispassionate bars

Biting empathetic hands

I live

Looking out

At everything that’s kept away.

To never be preyed upon

Is to sever all your heartstrings

As each one tugs your veins,

Pushing them away

Before they draw you out,

Exposed, vulnerable,

Easy prey.

And every broken heartstring bleeds

In the buried vaults unseen,

Untouched by any hand

The writhing wounded psyche

I identify as me.

To never be preyed upon

Is to never be free,

Looking out to see pleasures

I wish I could’ve been

Open and tender

In such a way as to be

The delicate flower

I’ve sheltered to keep

From being preyed upon.

I weep

Behind locked steel doors

Ashamed of myself,

Afraid for myself,

In solitudes keeping

Too weak to be anything but

Never preyed upon.

 

 

 

Familiar Folks

Familiar bonds deep engrained

Exclusively expressed in obligatory superficiality,

As unspoken words of affection

Felt and understood in every awkward glance and gesture.

Lifetimes of re-enforced sentiment

Spent in care-free novelty and tumultuous tribulation.

Loyalty in our devoted blood

Rewarded only in our collective facile interaction.

 

Incapable as we are

To satiate our needs for attachment,

We gather nonetheless

To empower our familiar bonds.

Between our solemn personas

We’re tied to chains of intimacy,

Holding us together

As our identities are weighted down.