The warm weather is pushing out the baby greens in the trees who are still broken-limbed from the last freeze as if they have no memory of the minor catastrophe. The ones survived are tasked to live.
Like to travel, read, play cello etc.
Freedom is a scent that lasts half a second. It's tart and spicy and feels like a jolt of fiery lava beneath the ocean floor. It happened once or twice under crashing pressure, barely registered. But it reminded me something's alive where it matters.
Someone else’s fantasy.
I thought with you in me I'd be whole & you will be free, but the sum of us is just someone else's- pack of cigarette, thin paperback, prayer in a long night. It's my turn to dream.
Being open is realizing there's no barrier between you and me- we both came with a certain touch of mystery, not afraid of changing our minds giving time, letting go the notion of straight lines regarding life.
May I have a little peace till I reach a familiar place? Fool me up with an oasis filled with all its promises. May I have a little tale just so I have some warmth? Maybe at the next bonfire we all shall have a toast. May I have a little laugh, charted map and celestial guide? When all the stars do align, a peak behind the cold divine.
My demon children.
My children are demons. They are quiet like death. I think of them often. Their moment of birth apparent. Maybe it's time for them to go to college. Will they come back & find me boring? Will they find a job because they're emotionless? Will they go viral for being stylish? The bitter-sweet moment when I say goodbye, will I lose everything & die? My dear demon children, I can't lie, you were there for me & I was a mess.
I'm the other looking at life dispassionately dispassionately & clearly except when I feel music & movies. Music & movies floating expectations body of aliens no mess nor implications profound yet easily dismissed. That's the seat I chose.
I'm hard to live with by myself. Constant torment inside these walls. One side is hot like hell, the other side chill like death. There's a person in the middle whom I can't tell. It's a split long ago. Something to endure, not knowing what. The ship will sink, nobody can hear the screams. The horror of a brain turned outside in. Can't bear others' help. They're making it worse. Not understanding the enemy is me.
There's a void in me that's where God is. Should I head that way where the world's going? There's a hurt in me that's where mom stays. Should I tell her, yes, I don't give a shit. There's a truth in me that's where dream lives. Maybe the broken pieces are the promises to keep.
Living in fiction.
Made up by mad men. Addicted to horrors & destructions. Can't live without daily dose of the same ol' cast and call, free food & who's who. Baby, don't cry. You ain't missing none. Everything's on tape. So we know the exact time when fictions come to life.