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.
Category: poem
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.
Joy of life.
Life is a flash. First it blinds you with brilliance then it spellbinds with "beauty". Just when you learn to appreciate it starts to fade with lingering pain. Finally the light burns out & you won't know anything at all.
Lament.
I'm not gonna make it, yo. I'm not gonna make it. Time is leaving me behind and I really really hate it. It's all my fault. I'm weak & faithless. Not brave nor wise. The beast had me for toothpicks. I'm tired & there's no path. More than ever I need to jump. It's live free or die, there's no other life. I'm sorry. I've been blind. (I'm scared. I'm scared. Am I insane or just stupid? I'm in the wrong body with wrong mind like an alien entity.)
Mine.
Mom & dad say, "Why bother, a daughter belongs to someone else." They were right. I am mine.
Mourn.
I've always been in mourning, wasn't sure for what. I mourned the end since the beginning. What a joke. Blamed everyone. It's my sentiment: turning away from life as a coward.
Thankful.
I'm a woman of subtle grievance. It doesn't hurt my body none but the spirit is dragging. "Why me?" I ask, "to see all the shits?" And be unhappy like I'm the one and only. Well, well, maybe the reason's obvious but the courage is lacking or it's the little things like timing. Someday I may decide there are memories worth having, and pain & joy are one and the same.
Organic people.
I don't get organic people. Don't they have to fight to be left alone? They blend in like soil to the rich, stinky mystery of life. Do they not question that? Is there nothing amiss? Why am I always the dissonance, a rip in the sanctity of the goddamn peace and quiet.
hotsurf_ 