Life

Motionless Movements

Sometimes I feel like I’m fading – like I’m drifting between worlds at such a pace that my movements become blurred and distorted.

There are times when I feel the intensity of my existence, and it calms me – lulling me into a sense of blissful awareness.

While other times, I feel suffocated by the pull, by the noise and the hushed breaths that escape my lungs.

My existence is in motions, but I feel stilled sometimes, like I’m standing in quietude while the world moves around me.

I know I’m not still. I’m never really still. I’m always moving, feeling, knowing and screaming.

This is my insides, but I remain still.

little watercourses with many stones and rocks

Liquid Measure

Oh how you wooed me.
How you brought me to the edge and then back.
How you promised me feelings of euphoria when I would just be sitting here – basking, waiting – yearning for the other.
What do you have that I don’t have?
These lies that you proffer and the pain that follows it’s just… it’s so much, and so little…
If only these moments could last – the thrills, the good stuff, all the brilliant things but, they never do.
Only pain follows.
But still, I yearn.
I want.
I crave more.
More of you?
No.
More of what you give me.
More of what I get.
You are my absent thrill… Always.
And I thank you. I thank you for that.
They say you’re my enemy, but you’re my friend – you’re one of my best friends!
You’re always there for me, even though I know you’re killing me as I take you in…
But, that’s not important. We all die soon anyway.
Thank you, for being there for me.
My poison. My thrill.

Existential Crisis?

When it’s quiet, really quiet, I feel the echoes of my existence bleeding through my skin.
I try to stay still – no breathing, no thinking – just floating.
Maybe that will keep it at bay.
It usually does for a little while.
Not often though.
The heavy feeling of my breath, my heartbeat-
The fact that I am here in this moment (this space) is something that has always haunted me.
Does it haunt you too?
Do you want to pause your existence and not feel, not touch, not smell, not want…?
These moments are my torture – my masochistic thrill,
For, If I do not feel the weight of my existence, how do I know that i’m alive?

SMILES, GIGGLES, AND THE IN-BETWEEN

Below the smiles lie the true hearts that beat,
The sadness and unreputed pain that never bleeds.
This “cool land” that takes centre stage,
Is just another faceted belief that makes it easy to sleep.
The honor, the respect – what are these things?
Do they shelter a deep mourning of expressions never seeped?
They smile and apologise to cover the pain,
But does their true worth ever form fates?

They live in a bubble of pacifist needs,
But do the moments of retribution ever leave?
Living on the outside looking in – countering the moments that never exist.
The work is exhausting, though one would not think why,
And the strong shoulders remain, but never for cries.
One yearns and controls the seconds that come,
And sits quietly while the food stays in control.
This measure of thinking that this world is the best,
Is just a measure that tolls the black bird’s nest.
Never sigh or show the minutes that dwell,
Or you’ll be placed in the most unforgivable hell.

Letting emotions go free is not what is good,
Let’s keep it hidden – locked, under the hood.
If we keep the moments of pain under clasp,
We’ll be following the rules of the open past.
Times like this, I wish that when I see the truths I’d remain unbent.
But those aren’t the rules of such a surreal life,
There’s a price for comfort and polite smiles.
How much would you pay to live in a world
That’s covered in trust but soothed in dirt?

“I will respect you ‘til my end”, that’s what they say, yes?
Just stay within the box and it’ll all be set.
It’s safe in this bubble while the world strolls by,
Because these moments are just lent from the human mind…

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MYSTERIOUS SKIN

What is beauty, this mystery that shrouds my skin?
This thing that casts an odd glow on my rather-not-mentioned sins.
Here I stand with wrinkles and lines, still the same person only slower,
Still the same person only duller.
Do my lines define me?
I think they do…
They define, not what I think of myself, but what is viewed of me.
I’ve grown to loathe all the grey bits that sporadically appear on my head,
Not until I’m fifty! Or closer to agéd death.
How does one keep their cool while trudging this line called life?
How does one stop the clock that slowly penetrates the nights?
My greys and aged skin do not bask humbly by the window –
Willingly waiting for moments of thrilling youthful endeavours.
I, nay, we all sit by this folly,
Braving the days… or maybe not so much bravery when it comes to the uncertain.
Still, life gives little choice to those who breathe this air,
And eventually, unless we die young, we all face the call of the aging glare.

Masquerade

MOTIONLESS MOVEMENTS

Sometimes I feel like I’m fading – like I’m drifting between worlds at such a pace that my movements become blurred and distorted.
There are times when I feel the intensity of my existence, and it calms me; lulling me into a sense of blissful awareness.
While other times, I feel suffocated by the pull, by the noise and the hushed breaths that escape my lungs.
My existence is in motions, but I feel stilled sometimes, like I’m standing in quietude while the world moves around me.
I know I’m not still. I’m never really still. I’m always moving, feeling, knowing and screaming.
This is my insides, but I remain still.

little watercourses with many stones

BLIND PARADISE

It’s a certain kind of feeling that I ran from
That I chased
That I now can’t live without
Undulating in its attack, it struck gold with this soul
As I can’t let it go
How can I?
These feelings of warmth and bliss
And flutters in the midst
Where do I go from this?

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STILL

I can hear them speaking so quietly to me.
Tearing at my mind to bend it to their will.
I’m closer to death than I’ve thought possible in a while,
And the closer I get the more pleasant my hell.
I will bask in my emotions until they drive me to the edge.
I will sing along with the voices that taunt.
I will sit by the tree that never flourishes – yet,
I will not answer their call.

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SANE INSANITY

Fit me in a padded room
Line me with the walls
Sever me from reality
Thrill me with your calls
Dancing little fireflies
Making wishes true
Little men in corners
All my thoughts they knew
Brain tumoured crazy
Drug induced high
I’m the one who’s really sane
Everyone else denies!

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REMEMBERING…

Daddy never heard me
As I barely breathed and waited.
Crouching below the floor boards,
I ignored the smell of rat pee
And the feel of tiny creatures scampering across my bare feet.

Peering through the cracks, I witnessed the demise of my mother
As the music of her voice was replaced with cries of pain.
And the hands that taught me to play baseball –
Now swung with the purpose of teaching her how to be a ‘good wife’.

I remember.

Daddy did not hear me that night
When I escaped from the hell of the floorboards.
And, with the bat that held so many fond memories,
I smashed away the celebration of my father.

floorboards

THE MUSE OF DEATH

It has been a while since I left my sins behind.
Jealous of the others who occupy their minds.
As my punishment takes form,
I shall welcome it with bliss.
Simply smile at my destiny and wish for a kiss.
Do not let the quiet ones know your pain,
We’re supposed to be strong,
But I’ll embrace my shame.
There’s an echoing rejection inside my head.
Whichever for the other,
Let us rejoice with the dead!
Do not desert me now because I’ve allowed the screws loose,
Stay closer to me my comforted muse.

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INGENIUM

I will never leave you; you are the pulse that keeps me sane.
My forever companion – my moments of self-loathe, pain, and thrills.
You have taught me expression,
How to serve myself with knowledge passed through the times.
If not for you I’d have been a sheep – a consequence of sociological creation.
“I would die for you”
This passion wields a sword that does not go dull, but stays sharp with each wrinkle and stretch that peeks.
You are my true soul mate, the one who hides and keeps create my secrets.
You and I are beasts from the same belly!
No one can keep us apart – not my hidden muse, or time, or even that nuisance called life.
This is for you, my special ingenium.

Power of Words

POSSIBLE POSSIBILITIES

It’s in retrospect that I will speak,
Embracing the foils of my thrills, and her drills of possible possibilities.
She remained quiet – going against her blood to exist.
Still, these stripes could not be broken,
Not while silent possibilities remained underfoot.
Knowing – she stood on the precipice (waiting) pondering when the leap will occur.
Another inevitable death.
So, with a sigh she embraced it – the eventuality of possible possibilities.

Open-Road

DENIAL

Let’s play the game a bit longer
While the seeds of torment take root and devour the mind.
Let’s blend with the background and stroke,
Shedding insecure moments and passing guesses.
We’ve played the game well – more before than this.
After all, the clenching pain is what brings back the best memories.
Denial can be your best friend too,
He’s always there to soothe, calm and rain kisses on your open wounds.

gravestone-lilies-grieving-girl

SNOW WHITE

Once upon a time there was purity between these thighs,
An untouched flower that shied from the sun.
Now it stretches unabashedly towards it,
And such purities of once upon a time are done.

There are unshed tears in my eyes and lies between my lips,
My betrayals are without fear as I sinfully sway my hips.
Emotions are lost as I float from one to the other,
Each a different stranger – screwing undercover.

I will not smear you with my sin,
Your innocence is all I have left.
The purity that cloaked my womanhood has been lifted.
Once upon a time I was Snow White…. but I drifted.

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DAYS OF PAST

Let us cleanse ourselves of an unwanted past,
Sing songs of triumph for what is to come,
And allow the graces of the in-between to grow.
We Speak of stages – here is mine,
The one that does not allow for excuses or time.
Where wishes and wants have to be a little more cemented,
And all the ‘goodstuff‘ does not lie with the demented.

Happy endings… days of past,
We shall meet again in the looking glass.
If ever we should stumble just look to the present one,
He who will stay close till our days are done.

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