a festering sore
exposed, vulnerable
and never healing.
an aspiration
for the weak willed
or the delusional.
-The parasites.
I learned to suture memories.
I am free,
as a rock in the wind.
The well runs deep
but the pump is broken.
and I have neither handle
nor rope
to pull my bucket.
a reservoir of wonder
and potential-
of love and miracles,
lie under the surface-
untapped,
undisturbed
unrealized.
I would cry
but I cannot reach my tears.
In the presence of one’s self
please,
do not lie.
Hiding between
friends or
family.
or
community.
you
are always.
alone.
except.
welcome
yourself
openly,
with love.
and see.
love me not.
love him not.
love not the sun
nor the moon.
love
the emptiness
inside.
and
feel
shine.
A thirst for
emptiness
and peace
eludes the Buddha.
Ignorant in his bliss,
and
Boring
in his stillness.
the peak of turmoil
is the true eye
-of the storm?
calmly
the soul spits
and you cry.
you cry because
you know
Nothing.
Perpetrating silence
deafens my soul.
an explosion of nothingness
engulfs
consumes
and
clarifies.
but it is still dark,
and I cannot see.
Float inside.
I grab one.
and it vanishes.
questions arise
with the falling moon.
History
repeats itself,
and
I
Fly.
Please.
I
Want
To
Fly.
I don’t really care
yet I do
which is why you find me here
blabbing to
you.
back to the beginning
where it all began, but
it is not where
it used
to,
or should be.
anymore.
so I will grab another.
So much, is
too much
for me to give.
yet it is all there
inside
growing
and building,
and growing and wanting
to touch.
you.
Infinite is a dirty 8 letter word.
(twice as dirty as fuck and shit)
but not half as dirty as the original:
Love.
is it a lie?
am I a lie?
If not to give,
then why,
me. Oh why?
fire
remains.
untended
and
neglected.
and
failing.
my fire.
sated by inaction,
fear,
stagnancy,
and complacency.
a swamp of
disaffected
independence
-or
loneliness.
I seek
what once burned
through
yearning.
I miss
the joy and wonder
of rediscovered
youth.
when Freedom
was not
a dirty word
Or a shadowy
spectre-
Elusive
and haunting.
Haunted,
like my father.
It was
My motor
My compass
My lover
My sweet
yielding
masterful
compliant
Lover.
It was Mine.
I cleaved unto her,
stealing not brief moments
of ecstasy,
But embracing a life
plush with loving kindness.
Where are you Lover?
Must I needs blaze alone?
Wilt that bringst thee closer
To my flame?
I shall guide and protect thee,
Even as had thou once
shown me
my potential.
I love thee
And
wilt find thee
when I find me
again.
theDeprevation 