They won’t exactly be sending out search parties for you, so no need to cast a longing gaze toward Gomorrah.
It’s quite an interesting connection between me and all these naysayers, almost like some cosmic joke.
Imagine a leaf petal doing a helicopter impression, whirling around in the wind and making a melodious entrance onto my skin, brushing past my clothes, and tickling my senses. I really ought to cut down on the overanalyzing of every little thing, overthinking even the simplest of thoughts.
On occasion, the descent of a solitary leaf serves as an emblematic reflection on life’s simplicity- “a leaf is just a leaf” I tell myself.
I possess an inclination to imbue every encountered element with a sense of romanticism- something beyond just normal acceptance.
This tendency, I suspect, emanates from my earnest desire to substantiate the significance of my existence, to give me reason, purpose- beyond the mere spectatorial role within someone else’s subconscious reverie.
My yearning extends further, reaching for a heightened emotional intensity, surpassing the present moment’s fleeting sentiments. This proclivity can be attributed to my perception that within the depths of my tears lies a reservoir of unwritten verses, and as they cascade from my cheek, they unfurl entire sagas upon unwitting onlookers.
My own faculties mirror the (what it seems like) perpetuity of a spinning dreidel, ceaselessly whirling through the vast expanse of thought. My goodness.
Like a melody resonating within the confines of a padded chamber, only then will the monotony of existence become stifling.
There are moments when I succumb to a slumber that seems to span epochs, and upon rousing, I encounter a reflection in the looking glass that scarcely resembles the person I once knew- a glimpse into the past of someone that I didn’t want to be anymore.
Every now and then, I can’t help but envy those animals that can wrap themselves up in a cocoon and seemingly take a lifetime to emerge anew.
I know it might sound a bit dark, but I’ve often wondered if cryogenics might have a place in my future, like I’m some kind of butterfly waiting to unfurl its wings. To start the cocoon process.
I’m still in the process of becoming the person I want to be, not quite there yet, not quite cocooned enough.
I tend to toss around the word “kaleidoscope” quite a bit- It’s like I’m navigating through a labyrinth, and I have this persistent feeling that I can uncover the hidden ending to the ever-shifting ultraviolet pattern.
Somewhere amid those rose-colored glasses, there’s a door with an infinite keycode, and I just know the password somehow. And when I finally open it, I won’t feel lost anymore; there’s someone waiting on the other side for me.
Tag: creative writing
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Between the Rose-Colored Glasses
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inept, and upset, it’s like nothing is mentioned.
lifes a run on sentence, interconnecting.
eclectic, electric, im a plug in the wall.
a bit so perplexive. spot the occult in the psalms.
the rejection. a song in the hall of this crazy asylum
straitjacket is off, but I still feel like i’m
binded
abstaining. no hiding. not restrained or assigning
what’s a goon to a goblin–12 noon to this bondage?
loudspeakers.
shouts weaken as I interrupt the connection.
been seasons since I slept at the suns’ dusky consent
grayscale cuts. as lovely as ever
It’s only fear if we love to project it
i’ve learned to accept it, in a functional sense
inflections infecting, it’s so fucking intense
influx of attention. but none to respect
found you by searchingyour pendant glow in the dark on your neck
defunct. so abrupt, you can barely hear it
footsteps like eruptions, each thud becomes searing
unbarring. unnerving, like mummies in pyramids
test love like currents, to conduct an experiment
shave off bucks antlers, concoct my lovers potion in dye
appearing like, serum – you took most of in stride
the locust–conniving, it’s always close to
my spine
blowing smog in my airways like covid arrived
halo spinning on her devil horns, soaking in pride.
denoting my time- unhook your brassiereabsolutely no focus adhered
from shifting gears in a war, now the coast has been cleared
she rode clean on her own horse, barefooted and gorgeous
you read me through your code words:no feeling remorse
like a fleeting emotion, cleave through divorcing
she march to the beat of her own drums. cheeks are like porcelain
its by gods grace- strawberry-stained bleeding disorder.the heart beating endorphins
let’s ease up and leave one weekend in greece, white villa is all that we need
cherry stem in her teeth. counting twenty sheeplings to sleep
night time plagued by beehives and wasps, in a treetop that’s neither streamlined nor warped
pero no te preocupas mi amor-
in the morning they’ll be more breezy seaside to waft
sea salt aroma, as sweet as its strong
no siege of despondence, no seething dissolving
just me, and you as a darling, me being charming,meeting you with resolve
so gather the sky clouds, chain the puzzle piece to my heart
my chéri amor, don’t wait till this dies down
permanent spring, summer breeze, no winter allowed
went from counting to three to running out of fingers to counti’m sorry
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Man, I never saw this coming. Saturn was the last place I wanted to end up. And here I am, on this unmanned spaceship headed for what feels like a haunted mansion in the sky. It’s crazy to think about how different life was just a month ago. Breathing used to be second nature, but now I can’t do it without thinking about you. It’s like my whole world has been turned upside down.
“But you’re all alone up there, and those radio signals? They’re about to give up.”
Manipulating the controls aboard this sophisticated contraption, I encounter an unending sequence of error messages. Oxygen levels? Verified. Fuel reserves? Confirmed. My heartbeat, a pulsatile metronome, now assumes the semblance of Morse code.
Alas, I find myself unable to decipher its cryptic message; it unravels as an intricate, enigmatic cipher – dit dit dot, dit. Indeed, it’s as though the cosmic ballet within me were protesting the indignity of simplification, a cosmic protestation.
I woke up from this surreal coma, and nothing in this new reality makes any sense. I’m haunted by how my brain conjures up entire galaxies in my mind. Brown eyes locked onto mine, and those coffee-colored spheres, so close they could spark a fire. It’s like magnetic, electric energy. Are we talking about planets or eyeballs here? And outside? The world is eerily silent. Space, it’s like some random poetic masterpiece. But those four unbroken galaxies, they were something else. Two and two, locked in a cosmic dance. Have you ever seen brown eyes under the sun? You should. They were creating and embarking on remarkable universes. And now, I’m lost in one.