Lingered Awakening

That cloud nine,
Higher living,
Deeper love,
Lighter air,
Stronger lights
Don’t always have to be an illusion
All these things,
So temporary
But permanent;
Somewhere.
Beauty isn’t magic.
Peace is fleeting.
God is art
God is not distant.
Art is why God isn’t distant
For the first time,
My soul can see in color
She was everything in love
She can breath in this love
My heart beats and bleeds
But still doesn’t believe in this love.

A Cynical Day-mare

If I could teach another organ to pump blood,
I’d rip my heart straight out of my chest.
Drop it into a river
Watch everything I hid it,
Gentely dilute and flow into oblivion.

I’d wash the blood off my chest
Close it up for the last time.
Clean my hands
And dress myself completely in silver and white.
Touch my left breast
And listen to the silence.

Surrender rhythm for freedom.
Sacrifice for love one last time.
I’d let it go.
Let it all go.
Believe less.
Detach myself.
Forgive.

I’d finally have the liberty
To find my freedom
Without everything inside me breaking.
I’d stop breaking.
I’d never fall in love again;
But I’d never fall again.
I’d still be depressed
But this time, I’d know why.

If I ripped my heart out of my chest,
I’d never love again.
I’d be left with only the memory of love.
The pain and the beauty
The madness and the illusion.

I’d watch the hands of God
Stretch out over the horizon,
Gently orchestrating the sunrise
And the magic she has to offer us,
Be immersed by all that majesty
And I’d just watch.

Voices In My Head

I recognize the voices in my head.
More so, their intentions.
Their words,
Like venom
Flowing through my mind.
They lie! They lie! They lie!

Honestly, it feels familiar.
They speak in tongues
I speak their tongue.
Their words,
Meaningless;
But still, I comprehend.

Sometimes,
They slither into my dreams
Seduce me with illusion.
Torment my reality.
Fuck reality!
I know it’s not so.

I spend nights alone
With all of them.
All alone with them;
It’s the same sensation
As a thick rope around my neck
Or knives in my back.
Just in my head.

I don’t mind the voices in my head.
They redefine my outlook
On life, On love
I’m eternally grateful.
I don’t mind the voices in my head
Even when they make me hurt,
They don’t have their fingers on my heart.

The Abstract Dreamer

I don’t dream like everybody else. I doubt I could if tried. I believe I’d try if I cared. I dream, with my head on a pillow of ecstasy allowing my very being to be distorted by romance, adventure and ultimate desire. Everything that happens when my eyes are closed are mere formulations of my lust for another self.

There is so much magic in fantasy and such little desire or want. In it lose track of time and self. There’s nothing linear in this trance; just majesty and the unattainable. The aesthetics at the bottom of the rabbit hole are just as distorted as time and love are in the real world and finally, reality begins to make sense.

I pray that if my fantasies are mere fallacy, the reaper may take charge of my fate. For I’d rather dance in the rain than to a new song. If heaven were to grant me one wish, that is the decade must die before I, that it won’t be in vain. That one day I would awaken in a world where fantasy and reality intertwine to create my destiny.

I stand alone at the edge of this dark and foggy forest. I fear that fear will be my undoing if not illusion. I’ll place my faith in the arms my guardian angel. Listen for her voice over the screeching of my demons. Trust in her in spite of my dismay and distress. If I might trip tonight, may I fall in love and light to find life and magic.