Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Demented

When we put words together to form sentences
We often do it in search of truth
But the bullshit stories we tell each other
are never any closer to truth
than the space between our varied perceptions
Fallacy abounds, largely ignored
Because coping without it is impossible

And still we live for the hours
And still we stay alive for each other
And still we strive to learn some new trick or another
And still we smile
And still we laugh
And still there are nights that are absolute torture
And still the moon gets bigger this time of year
And still the sunrise blinds bleary morning eyes
And I can still see that last one in my rear view mirror
And I can still feel its beautiful sting in my veins
Every one of those precious minutes carries a hundred tears
Our ocean grows deeper
But never wider 
And always 
always
there

Monday, October 7, 2013

Not quite dejavu

It had to have been a day just like today
where the warmth of summer
gives into the dull ache of cold bones 
while the air attempts to suffocate
all living things
with it's thick decay. 

It had to have been a day 

exactly the same as today
when my soul ripped itself in two
and bid adieu
to ever seeing anything
just one way again.

It feels almost mournful. 
But beautiful. 
And dreadful. 
And lost.

This day is confused.
It can't decide
whether or not
to allow the sun to shine 
So she hides cowardly
behind those gray puffs
of risen feathered-fog.

This day is longing for the forgotten heat of summer.
This day is too tired to fight against the inevitable.
This day would give itself up for one more pleasant dream.
But this day can not sleep. 
This day assassinates the darkness
like each day before it.

This fucking day,
I can not put my finger on.
But this day,
in my history,
or one just exactly like it
Has been my undoing.
My terminal diagnosis.
My death.
My total destruction.

This day.
This brisk
This breezy
This perfect
autumn day

Left me beyond ruined

And yet
This day
This day, saved my life.