Yesterday gone, tomorrow not promised, see the world as it is rather than for what its not. See the shine, the glitter and the glow, and the rotten, the withered and the old, realize the bile, the bitter and the broken but rejoice in the shining, the golden, the gilded. See the beauty, the wonder in both, and find a point between that light, find a place that borders that night, and hold on to that now, that present place you make with everything you are, will all you have, for that might be truly all you get, for life is fleeting and life is fast but it’s ugly and beautiful and nothing so wondrous can ever truly last.
I stands alone on a broken shore, and Us is there no more, the We They were is gone today but here tomorrow though They never really were at all. Me is there but I is gone and never to be here again, for the We I was is gone today, to come again tomorrow, at least that is what They say. So yet I stands on the broken shore, where Us never was to be, and Me is all but gone, just a broken memory.
Us is here and Me is there but We are lost at sea. We see the dawn but race the night until out of sight I flees, Me is there watching with closed eyes staring at the beatific tragedy even as They decide to turn Us loose, to lose the tie that binds. Lost and loosed an all alone Us is left to live or die adrift alone at sea.
I and We dislike that Me that decides to cry when We decide to go and try to do something that I will like but We despise and that Me at that time inside my mind took that knife to that I that made the We and left Us alone with only that shuddering shaken shattered Me that made mistaken miserable miscalcuations that led to monotonous misery and an indentured imagination lacking intellectual stimulus and emotional support so the I and We are gone and Me is sitting and standing while stalking and crawling and sitting in that corner rocking cutting their arms with a blade that doesn’t have an edge while edging closer to the edge staring in stupified satisfaction for surviving without living, simply persisting in painful permenance and stymied stagnation without proceeding and exceeding just falling behind, lacklust and lacking
I take a shuddering breath in an attempt to fill my shaking form.
The words they gnaw and bite, a raging storm.
It dwells inside, a burning hole with in my chest.
I don’t hurt because I’m empty, I realize as I burn and twist and writhe.
I hurt because the words most surge forth, the stories must be told.
That which dwells with in, the thoughts and worlds created by the muse inside my soul.
So much within and only so much room to use, the words are to heavy to carry too many to hold.
They bite and gnaw at my chest, beasts I’m unable to hold at bay.
It rips me apart in a visceral way, the blood and gore there for me to see as my dark imagination holds sway.
I see now I was never really empty, but rather over full, filled to the brim with the words that I carry, the stories that I hold.
Some things simply must be told.
There are times, not often mind, that I find words wandering through this wretched form of mine. Not quite the same as the usual flow, nothing happy mind you but nothing so dark or damming as those I ussually know and, if I were honest, I’d say it’s more a question instead, nagging thought that never quite recedes to the back of my head.
Why, when I look around do I see no one near, why can’t I bare the thought, the utter fear, of letting one in, letting them close?
It’s a question with no answer, nor no intended response. For the closest to answering it I’ve gotten is in the asking though even that is quickly forgot.
I suppose the closest I can come to letting one in is letting myself out through words upon the page, to jot down the nagging thoughts to quicken their age, whittle and wither them down to be almost not, just a passing shadow on a cloudy day. Never remarked upon and rarely noticed but I suppose I’ll have to be honest with myself at some point, how ever that time is not yet upon us.
Once I had a I dreaming that was much more than simple seeming,
Upon finding myself waking I found my form was shaking
With tears that were streaming and voice that with a quavering
Was calling for that feeling that dreaming that so much more than simple seeming
That image of a life, of a living breathing self with a calming caring touch
Something beyond this existence, this simple being
I find myself wanting this feeling this thing that had me living
Had me more than just being, more than a black casket husk
I had a smile, I did know joy, and I had a love all my own
But upon my waking I discovered my woe, because I did behold
Alas, it was but simple seeming, just a bit of careless dreaming.
Nothing more but simple seeming, and yet the seeming won’t be seeming to leave me be.
Splitting at the seams, the careless dream has shattered my hold
Damn and blast that cursed dreaming, that simple seeming that I see upon my sleeping
It won’t leave me be, I can’t forget that feeling that left the tears streaming and oh…
Oh, I wish I could.