Where there’s no longer hope in the cries of babes
Where there’s no longer hope in the cries of babes
He’s in my head again.
The pain, the longing, it’s here again.
And he knows.
When will it end?
He’d all but consumed me then.
They all stuck around like a second skin.
He’s in my dreams.
Always a little too far.
I’ll always want the taste of him.
Will I grow?
It’s forever a strange thing,
How much I yearn and crave just a bit more of him.
Does he know?
He’ll stay in my head and then…
How do I cry for a loss that feels superficial but deep?
How do I want or define something I’m not sure I want to keep?
I love you. I do.
You know this.
But love, to me, is bullshit.
Oh it’s great in the moments of early thrills.
It speaks volumes when things are covered in silk.
Its death is simply inevitable…
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 crave more.
More of you?
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.
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…
If you try to find happiness outside of yourself with people or things, then it is fleeting, and it’s not true happiness. This is surfaced. True happiness lies within. And in order to be happy with people and the things around you, you first have to be happy with yourself.
So, here are some steps to being truly happy:
Another quiet morning has passed where, upon tumbling out of bed, I muse to myself, “what the hell was that dream?” Not that I don’t appreciate the memory of my flights and celestial fancies, but sometimes I truly have to wonder what my subconscious is up to when I delve into these otherworlds.
Sitting on the outskirts of my mind, I look around my tiny apartment and feel the closeness of everything choking me back into my safety net. That slumber that never leaves. It’s sort of like my security blanket – always there to rock me into submission.
Going into auto-pilot, my morning glides from task to task, continuously the same yet somewhat different. I can never seem to do the same exact thing twice.
Sometimes time plays tricks on me, telling me we’re cool and will roll together. But as soon as complacency sits in, I’m tossed in a whirlwind of ticks and missing beats. I can never get mad though, I know time sits still and I’m the one that flows. Still, these moments remain, almost like a reminder of my movement between these planes – forever on the move, yet remaining the same.
Occasionally, I would sit as still as possible and relish in the shifts that exist with and through me. I’m in a million different places right now – how many people know this?
So, back in my apartment, my home away from home, I try to stay with time and have friendly conversations to appease as I go through the motions.
And soon, sometimes too soon, I greet the morning that sits on the outside of my door.