as i walk past random houses
i can’t help but wonder
if there is anybody trapped inside
as i walk past random houses
i can’t help but wonder
if there is anybody trapped inside
there is beauty
in a fleeting beam
of sunlight
as it wanes
and night sounds fill the twilight
wind whispers through the glades
shadows lengthen
wearily
as they to lay down to rest
Fuck I’m so sad
Tiny flame dwindling
Like a frown at the edge of space-time
On the ledge of space-time
Where I can see the whole universe
Arranged in columns of stars
And light sparks between clouds
Of nebulous gas
Giving rise to creation
Creating this feeling
Of divine isolation
In the cold and the dark
Where the orbs spin
And distant flames dwindle
And twinkle
As though it’s the same thing
The sane thing
To be distracted by light
Like moths swarming a bulb
Seeking warmth / Seeking death
In the sizzling caress
Of the flame and the glass
Like a glass window pane
The pain is ingrained in me
It goes on and on
Like some old song
Cobbled together
From all I’ve done wrong
And from old nursery rhymes
Rhyming slang / Guitar twang
The phone rang
In my memories like a harpy
Yet I cannot sink
Cannot think
In this darkness
In
This
Abyss
Unmoving
A bubble escapes from my lips
As I gasp
What is this?
My body suspended
In a body of water
Suspended in space
My heart’s starting to race
And my thoughts can’t keep pace
With the weight of disgrace
And my shoes are unlaced
What I’m trying to say is
I’m trying to stay
Grounded
On the earth
And its tectonic plates
Rocky pinnacle untouched
And ever unseen
So remains like a dream
Long forgotten
Long turned rotten
In the back of my mind
Like a miner
Pickaxe striking at
My amygdala
Wounded snake
Driven mad
Rising up now and biting
Not because I am angry
But because I am frightened
Of men and their nets
And the battles they’re fighting
Lightning upon the plains
Scorches whole fields with blame
I’m so lame
I’m so lame
And fuck I’m so scared
Wish I’d been prepared
For this
I rage.
I rage so hard against the uncaring, ruthless universe.
I bring to bear every weapon against it: I slash at it with knives and trigger vast cascading chains of atomic bombs.
This is the quantity of my rage. This is the quantity of my multitudinous arms as I beat at the universe and the sound of my innumerable mouths as I scream at it.
I am blood-soaked: freshly-birthed; freshly wounded.
I am wild-eyed and frenzied, I am so angry.
And we collide, again and again, me and the universe, the universe and me. We are soaked in each other, each wound I inflict on the universe I also inflict on myself.
The pain only makes me more wild and, still, I rage.
I rage.
I rage so hard against the uncaring, ruthless universe until I break; I come apart.
And yet even disembodied, still.
How do I rage with no hands to strike with? How do I rage when I have no mouth with which to scream?
I am the universe against which I rage and so, once again, I berate myself into existence.
Punching, slashing, exploding, my rage is infinite.