[The older I get - I watch my life as it unfolds and hits this 'rock bottom' state. You never envision your life taking drastic turns and hitting so hard that you have no breath left . . . I experienced that today.]
from daggers to dust . . .
I used to leap in latitudes
but now
I'm as grounded as the movers of post-modern decades:
My iridescent light used to shine in neon green - the time I felt free to enjoy the ride. The ride now has sliced my clothing with its sharpness and has produced birthmarks to last me till death. I shake my head as I press replay - my thoughts of all that has transpired - numb in my agility to lift my face from drooping, magnets pull it down.
I sigh in wonder of the seed that has grown and wilt inside of me - a molded deep sea green in opposition
of the pale light green of passing fearlessness.
Occasionally, but actively I ponder the 'what if' stamped across my heart, the mark I leave in art is also the mark I leave in connected froth.
Skin so tight, I squint intensely; my breath scares me into flat line!
I pause.
but now
I'm as grounded as the movers of post-modern decades:
My iridescent light used to shine in neon green - the time I felt free to enjoy the ride. The ride now has sliced my clothing with its sharpness and has produced birthmarks to last me till death. I shake my head as I press replay - my thoughts of all that has transpired - numb in my agility to lift my face from drooping, magnets pull it down.
I sigh in wonder of the seed that has grown and wilt inside of me - a molded deep sea green in opposition
of the pale light green of passing fearlessness.
Occasionally, but actively I ponder the 'what if' stamped across my heart, the mark I leave in art is also the mark I leave in connected froth.
Skin so tight, I squint intensely; my breath scares me into flat line!
I pause.
I hear these words played on repeat as a mother scolding her children!
------------
The daggers feel stronger after the second day. After the storm has passed by a little.
In a cold sweat I woke up quivering internal vibes . . .
You wake up early even though you haven't slept yet.
Eyes pop open glance down at the floor, head heavy lagging on the pillow. You second guess every fiber of your being hoping you don't exist anymore
. . . It was all a dream, only not.
The truth of the matter is that it REALLY matters . . . to me. I am who I am and that's why I am who I am NOT.
You don't think
I think about all that was and used to be? Me, you, me, we which is now who, what, when and why?
I noticed that cast down shades slowly closing the small amount of light, peeking out an outstretched blind.
Yeah, that blind-sided me . . . by my side you once were.
I wrote this chapter close unconsciously not calculating reprocustions. I mis-calculated in this maze I'm in.
I am sick. Not diagnosed . . . .
In a cold sweat I woke up quivering internal vibes . . .
You wake up early even though you haven't slept yet.
Eyes pop open glance down at the floor, head heavy lagging on the pillow. You second guess every fiber of your being hoping you don't exist anymore
. . . It was all a dream, only not.
The truth of the matter is that it REALLY matters . . . to me. I am who I am and that's why I am who I am NOT.
You don't think
I think about all that was and used to be? Me, you, me, we which is now who, what, when and why?
I noticed that cast down shades slowly closing the small amount of light, peeking out an outstretched blind.
Yeah, that blind-sided me . . . by my side you once were.
I wrote this chapter close unconsciously not calculating reprocustions. I mis-calculated in this maze I'm in.
I am sick. Not diagnosed . . . .
You can't cove up puffy eyes with make up- the disease you have is prevalent: The red turned pink, turned pale, the colors erased and unnoticed even by those who KNEW you. You don't know you - why you are Y U R N I C U?
Comatose by my being . . . honest. My figure of speech, my tongue IS the gun that kills everyone. . . I love.
In death you hope for their re pass. That this season will, this moment will pass - it will but it will never be the same.
All the games you played with each other - there's has to be a winner and loser right?
You are the loser.
Lost in life, love and lessons . . . Planned by your teachers = A contradiction.
- - - - - - - -
March '13
(friendships in seasons)
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