Avoidance and Fear
our secret punishments
We believe we don’t deserve Life
or it’s Beauty or Faith or Healing…
So we reopen our wounds.
It’s our cyclical fate
our self-fulfilling prophecy.
Why do we wound, abuse, and punish ourselves?
Why do we crave to hurt, to be Melancholy?
It’s sick, but so Beautiful
We feel most alive…
We feel most free…
Blinded by reflection of water?
On the black pavement.
Thoughts complicating,
Thoughts overpowering.
Divinity cannot be seen,
For no one knows what it is.
Nowhere to go.
Dead byproducts of the machine,
Infecting the streets,
The World.
And they reproduce in masses.
Thoughtless and countless masses.
Imploding like waste
Gathering in a stream,
Clinging to a stick.
You see the ashes and smoke,
Pollutants immeasurable,
But why do people adore
What hurts them the most?
They are walking idiosyncrasies,
Yet they are all the same.
They are a double-binded threat
Without Protection,
Without Retaliation,
Like mice with no escape.
I want to be
in your memory
I need more than I want
And any doubts that lie within you
are the doubts that keep you true.
We get sick every day
It’s the world that we made
Time won’t heal all the wounds
We are fools
because of the things that we choose.
Why is it our choice anyway?
Only the weak fade away
(are the ones dying)
‘Cause that’s their escape.
The strong free their voices
but have nothing to say.
What is it you see inside of me?
Will the outside live eternally
or fall apart, uncapable,
unfaithful, unholy?
is to hide all your jealousies and lies
Bleeding your thoughts into my eyes
You are tainted with everything
But my sight…
Beautifully Melancholy.
You can’t hide anymore
This is what it is
I can’t control it
I am bitter as a scar
that has been wounded again and again…
Not a typical Joe
But a lonely soul
Floating about until
He hit the perfect host.
But do not fear
The end is never near
Because this bug has brains
And he believes in reincarnation
Even though his brains
Are scattered across the
Window before you.
The wind and trees begin to move.
The dark crevices between the wall of trees,
You know and see its purpose.
But do not go near
For fear of a truth left from
A lost people.
She moves slightly closer
To peer into the tiny, black holes
And loses herself again.
The wind starts moving her body for her,
Like a spirit leaving the body,
But only for a moment,
So she can catch her own breath.
The one that reminds me
That things are multi-colored
And not black and white,
It stands, quiet and graceful,
Just as my grandfather stood.
I want to embrace them both,
And soak in their wisdom
And stories of long before.
