We are banging our heads against brick walls, the walls are hard and our heads are soft
It’s a painful way to get attention.
The light in the room is mellow,an orange glow that sets my leg in shadows. The white board with its forgotten scrawls remind me of reality, yet reality seems absurd, folded into minor universes.
The music drains into me, pouring out and trickling into invisible drains. I am drenched, but the water is running upwards from my skin. The leaves outside stir quietly. The guitar tunes tickle my spine.
The spirit is silent, the pain of the world is around me and for a moment we have this connection. It’s tenuous at best but we have it and the two worlds are soldered together. Your world on mine, my fingers in yours the reality in which I transmute your spirit- I go about reality looking for vessels to hold you in.
There is no better love, that justifies me.
This world has no place for me, ever in the dark I sink into madness only if the madness feels like you against my skin. My reality is a portal for you, the soldering breaks- you fly away like paper.
I have no place in this reality, there is a disconnect somewhere and I am stuck on the wrong side of the moon. I look at the desert in front of me, the abyss is tethered and it’s locked inside.
I am reaching out across, playing a tune that makes no sense, ping ping ping the sound gets lost in space.
I can read you inside out, flip you over, fry you in oil but there is not one inch of me you understand.
And I rock inside my own darkness, wondering if this is what the inside of every head feels like- slimy white roots that never end once you start yanking.
I need you to run to me, lover.
I am nothing more than chemical reactions tied together in nonsensical strings yet the mind takes me places where I have no way out from.
I look at my surroundings, everyone stands with barely a foot in outer space so happy in the infinity pool at the edge of consciousness.
I am alone, in the terror of my art. I am my own fear, in the darkness. Twisted and grotesque, unimagined, not accepted
See through, flimsy a piece of cardboard blowing in the wind.
I am chained to your reality, pouring cups of silver smooth poison down my throat, to make my stay easier.
It occurs to me, the mad ones have channelled this abyss into acceptable pieces of contained art- selling them like curio shop pieces, hidden between innocuous pieces of blue green potions.
Can I do that? Disguise my madness and let loose the virus on the world to fish out the others, the ones under whose fingers the portals open up- the gateway to Neverland?
Or will I just remain a slightly disjoined reality, contemplating the answers to questions that don’t exist?
I am the dancer chasing my shadow
The guides are all lost,
And while I walk towards the end of the world,
The end of the world walks towards
me with baby steps.
I’m looking for the answers, pieces, but reality demands more and more of my attention.
I am the quintessential box of crackers
Damp and sizzling, surely petering out into woodsmoke.
My heart is dancing in silence, watching angels screwing over and over
And humans drinking their blood.