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.
Author: hotsurf
Like to travel, read, play cello etc.
Freedom.
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.
Mystery.
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.
Little.
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.
2nd balcony.
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.
Understand.
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.
To Christmas.
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.
hotsurf_ 