You smell like the essence of joy.
You have the color of sunset squeezed,
rejoicing the violence by dri-dripping
the most tantalizingly consistent
pulpy sediment, shamelessly healthy.
No wonder you sustained me
when I swallowed the bitter medicine.
You're elixir of life in my palm,
yet they only call you an orange.
Voices.
Every night I'm scared
of the opportunities lost.
When I close my eyes,
it's party time for my thoughts.
I never cared for survival
yet something bids me to strive.
Is it my spirit, my mother or
the craziness that wants to get out?
Badass.
I've never loved,
too chicken to do it.
There're always excuses,
a mile long & growing.
It's the ultimate bravery
in a world that's random & cold.
It's a moment of rebirth
when you start to let it loose.
Give-a-shit is the ultimate badassery.
Low expectations.
Other people's expectations give me pause,
and yet every step of my life, every moment,
I have expectations of.
I didn't give life enough room to breathe.
Because of fear and expectations.
Maybe loosen the grip just a bit?
Black ice.
An iceberg flips over when it dies.
Its pristine soul released to the sky.
The moment of beauty when
nature disintegrates,
would you listen otherwise?
Shame.
They didn't care I never smiled,
never talked about what I want
or what makes me happy.
It's over their heads, I know.
They're not the adults, I'm
not their kid. It's an entanglement
so hard to leave. Because of
all the love wasted, lying open,
bugs, flies, shame-infested.
All the buttons made & pressed deep.
It takes a flood to wipe it clean.
I need it clean. The same faces.
Time is the flood, we just lay there
and wait.
In love.
I wanna be still especially when I'm moving.
Being dead is the ultimate goal,
maybe then I'd be a thing.
The blur that's me, the vibration that's bothersome.
And the worst is when it squeezes.
I want to be alone and still, then
maybe I can feel this person that
I happened upon. But it's not all there, is it?
What piece is missing?
I have to find it.
The vibration is the yearning:
to return? To go forth? To finish? To exhaust itself?
I want to be still, so I can think.
The stars have fuel to burn,
I'm but a transient spark,
in love.
The gift.
My mind is a garbage dump.
I have to sort through heaps of junk.
Worst place is where the piles bleed.
It takes time, effort and faith.
On a sunny day the space stinks.
In a dark night creatures creep.
Can't tell you how many times I quit.
Wanna just hitch a ride outta the gate.
Something tells me hell & paradise is the same.
Can't pick & choose what's in front of your face.
Maybe under all the things mama told me I ain't,
I will find the peace to tend to this gift.
Sunset no. 9.
I used to be so in love
with the world, man,
like I do now.
Then I was separated
from it like I was
separated from myself.
I didn't know what I
had was real and
someone wanted me
to be someone else.
I thought maybe
they were right,
because why not?
I lost the gleam
in my eyes and
I hated the
personal hell
where nothing
matters and
it hurts to smile.
Life is a journey.
Am I lucky or not?
All I know is:
the sun's golden ray
is my favorite scent.
That doesn't last
at all.
A quarter to high.
Sometimes it feels like
I've lived past
the point I should.
Everything's in reverse & fast
forward at the same time.
Into a blackhole I can see.
Like a crouching tiger closing in.
A glimpse over the shadow
of peripheral.
It hunts you because
it knows nothing else.
Because it's all you know.
Without suffering to distract
& pleasure to extract
the painful awareness
of coldness of eternity
and the narrowness
of being.
What was I saying again?
hotsurf_ 