Cigarettes and Spearmint

 

Here's a girl--she's right for me.

My body knows it too.

She smells like beer and cigarettes
Hell, it's better than perfume
She loves tattoos and piercings
And feels home in doom and gloom
She's half deaf from her music
Band posters clog her room

She's an hour glass figure
That's ticking time away
She may be here one moment
But she's never here to stay
She believes there is no God
"So why should any pray?"

She makes me feel too sober now
Should I join her life of Grey?

Her vicious grin is all I need
Behind that ink black hair
Her ambitious sins do crawl and breed
Antipathy, she bears
Her white pale skin is like the dead
But she doesn't seem to care

If this isn't love, it's hatred;
But nonetheless, she's rare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now here's a girl--who's right for me.

My mind knows all too well.

She smells like classic Spearmint
And rings brighter than a bell
She loves to write short stories
In hopes one day they'll sell
And volunteers around the town
For fear she'll go to Hell

She's an athletic figure
That's always running fast
She tells me we should hurry
Or we'll quickly turn to past
She holds belief that life's too short
"How are we to last?"

She makes me feel too slow now
Is my paced life all but trash? 

Her saintly smile is all I want
Behind her locks of gold
Her voice is of an angel's
She's her church's favorite mold
Her eyes flare like her holy God
A sacrament, I'm told

If this isn't love, it's hatred;
But nonetheless, I'm sold.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, when everything is quiet, and you start to hear the sound of the nothingness around you,

And the voices fade,

And the car engines run dry in the distance,

And the heartfelt laughter is forgotten,

And the once vibrant air of social adrenaline settles around you,

And you realize that out of the 7 billion people on Earth--nobody can sense you at this curious moment,

Somtimes, you wonder...

Why? 

And when your eyes close,

And your breath feels heavy,

And your body goes numb,

And you feel your consciousness silently drift into nether,

And your last thoughts disappear,

Everything disappears.

Only to come back to leave you wondering:

Was there any reason to wonder at all? 

.. ..

Working.  Because life never ends,


Lying.  As if trying to pretend,


Waiting.  Because God will never send,


Trying.  As if I've found myself.  But here I am.  

Back again. 


Night. 

Not so black, but just enough light.

To see the room around me all right. 

No scary stories or even white ghosts.

Just remembering memories that stick out the most.

Faces, friends, family and them,

Coming to visit my mind once again,

Could have's, would have's, might be, should be

Didn't, couldn't, don't torment me

Feelings, sighs, broken ties

Promises disappear through curtains of lies

No.

No, not lies. 

I didn't say anything.
 I didn't open my mouth.

I didn't say a thing,
to put them past doubt.

How can you lie? 
Without speaking a word?

How can you try?
When you just don't deserve,

The credibility, nor honor or fame
That springs up with memory
I never remain
Inside the brains of the ones which I name
But I can't call them friends--when they call me insane.

Change.

The range of these deranged thoughts terrify me.

Like small spiders and snakes--for God's sake, give me some pills I can take.

Calm this blood rushing through small channels,
clotting the judgement that sits at this panel--
 I'm losing it now like a locked-away animal--
With nothing to feed on, I've slowly turned Cannibal

That feasts on my flesh, with self mutilation
With blood dripping up with every vibration
I'm perfectly fine with this new sensation
It's only a thought--without hesitation----

Stop.


My eyes open.

Eyes stinging, ears ringing. 
I'm still here.

Yes.  I'm still here.

I guess I haven't fallen asleep yet. 

Digging For The Clearing

Sometimes during the day I wake up and realize that I'm still breathing.  Sometimes I wake up--even if I was never sleeping at all.  Yes, sometimes I become conscious; and my consciousness and attention emerge from the wakefulness I thought I had already been a member of.

Sometimes I think about it.  Sometimes I worry about it. But sometimes I feel the moment.  

When the moment of realization takes hold of me--I feel free.  I feel like I can do anything.  I know no boundaries.  I remember no mistakes.  I acknowledge no faults.  I look outside through the pane of my window and see more than a world.  I see myself.  But I see more than my frame.

I see what I could be.  I see what I can be.  I see what I will be. 

 When the moment leaves me, I remember.  Memories of my name come rushing to my stomach.  Like an anchor, I'm weighted down by the new realization.  The realization of reality.  But I'm learning that everything I've ever known and ever will know is completely arbitrary.

My very name is arbitrary.  

I'm beginning to realize that there is no solid foundation by which I can draw my realities from.  I'm beginning to understand that past all the supposed stable formulated columns of man--the rules of our time and generation--nothing is certain.  If anything is certain, it is that uncertainty itself is within a reasonable conclusion. 

What am I?  

Am I face you see in the daylight?  Am I voice you hear across a room?  Am I footsteps along the pavement?  Am I a picture on a web page?  Am I letters strewn across your screen?

What am I?  

Whatever you know or ever will know of me or about me--it is completely construed by what you are.  Your very perception of an elastic figure of this world will never be certain.   I will never be within reach nor within grasp of objectivity--of solidarity--of assurance.


Rather, I will remain as an ambiguous frequency of realizations, doubts, pleasures, horrors, and contentment. 

When I think I've struck rock bottom in my inquiry for self-searching, I begin to dig.  When I hit stone, I drill through.  When I hit blood vessels, I swim through.  I will never stop until I find out. 


But what are you searching for? 

I am searching for more than meaning.  I am searching for a reason.  And a reason behind the variable of meaning.

When I finally discover the truth,


I will be dead long before I am able to unveil it to the world. 

Dreams

I had a dream last night.

The kind that soaks into you through the morning.

And makes you want to think about it all day. 

I could do that.

Or I could thin the lines between dream and reality.

And think about it the rest of my life.