Tuesday, November 22, 2016

hidden doorways and other worlds

rainbow walls, parallel on peripherals,
splitting the once whole into
a right and a left and between them
an infinite middle- it draws you in
crashing into the oncoming kaleidoscope,
spiraling through the opened door,
passages to other dimensions,
not linear but everywhere,
flat to protrusive pathways
blending with its surroundings

sit back and close two of your eyes,
drift and let go,
be lost,
understand that you don't understand

stop searching and allow yourself to be found by
incomprehensible beings conveying existence
through not any distinguishable language- but feeling,
open yourself up and hear their message;
everything is moving to a rhythm,
it's a beautiful dance
usually still for our own sake,
beneath our solid, concrete logic
reminding us to just be

Thursday, November 17, 2016

what are we if not habitual?

I can't help but to pull loose threads,
tugging away until
it all falls apart,
stripping to expose what's underneath,
the truth with nothing left to hide behind

I catch myself apologizing over feelings,
spitting them back into bottles
until they're long past expiration
where they become stale, flat and leave
a bitter taste

these thoughts will turn to madness
as paranoia grows like tumors in my brain,
pressure points exploding spilling blood
through eye sockets until all I see is red

Do we choose who we are or
has science determined that for us too?

Each time I see a path split into two-three-four
there is a compulsion to take the usual route,
I struggle but am still pulled breaking nails on ground
anything to resist going down same muddy roads,
same tired destinations

it feels good to let go, drift to your own will,
to jump in puddles and roll in the mud,
but it's messy, and no one wants you
tracking that shit in their home,
I tell myself that
next time I'll take the cleaner option

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty
but when was the last time they had an eye exam?
parts of the story is missed from fogged lenses,
the rest is haphazardly pieced together
creating whatever lullaby that helps them sleep tonight

i'm a five-star man

there was a time I thought bonds truly existed,
intangible tethers tying people together,
you could take that leap of faith trusting them to catch you if you fall,
but when you do ya hit the ground hard, no safety net to save you,
it might have taken some time and effort to construct,
why go through the trouble when you're not them?

it's like a blindfold slipped and I caught everyone laughing,
it was a big joke, a lie taken seriously,
there's a game being played on all levels,
we only interact when we're on the same step,
if you show a weakness, you lose,
and if you talk about the game at all,
you're expelled

you're only wanted until you're not needed anymore,
I know this because I lost that magnetic energy
that could pull you in from across the room,
I fell from grace
and no one batted an eye,
the polarity only reversed
as everyone was pushed away,
leaving no one with the grating torture of
focusing on something other than

Thursday, November 10, 2016

might is still right

twisting proverbial elbows into submission,
locked down and bent breaking under the weight
between the mighty and their righteousness,
the thought this is different from shifts of planes,
from the concrete to the abstract,
new boundaries and rules to abide by,
buried underneath what we convinced ourselves of,
building blocks into the tallest tower until it dawns on no one 
that they've only changed their course to parallel avenues
driving towards the same destination,
that were somehow more civilized
than apes pounding their chests
roaring the loudest,
tossing our metaphysical shit at each other,
climbing hierarchies for alpha dominance

Thursday, November 3, 2016

bury, pretend, forget

the social life is a masquerade
where we piece together our costumes
in fogged mirrors, blurred reflections,
for people whose strange faces are pixelated,
their mouths make noises that are familiar
but not really understood,  launching
empty vessels into one-ear-out-the-next
with no give or take, only meaningless
diplomatic voyages to save reputation,
suppressing the desire to express a true emotion
out of fear of breaking our chains,
they keep us connected- and enslaved,
better to comply than to become a

these tales are written in hard cover books,
we' bind each other to these pages,
trapping ourselves into
nonsensical, one-dimensional characters,
hypocritical by nature,
diluting any personal dialogue
with borrowed rhetoric,
it becomes us inside-and-out
making it easier to accept our roles
rather than accepting our
mental prisons,
life behind bars without
checking if cell door was ever locked,
afraid of the possibility it never was

the unfathomable horror of letting go

it's contagious,
it spreads its introverted madness
crippling the spirited, suffocating the boisterous,
unaware of its source- even the sickness itself,
the healers assigned to help are only trained
to return the sickly to their treadmills,
not to find the antidote, not to
rid people of the contagion,
just stooges sick with the same disease,
strengthening it with ignorance,
letting it amass so everyone is infected,
where being healed is to become sick,
making the side-effect of the cure-
our greatest-inherent, instinctual fear