To teach me a lesson, heavenly serpentine.
Vanished, all of the ghosts I’ve befriended
All abandoned in a matter of seconds. I feel wildly
Alone at tides like this, where the waves can only bring
The dirt the hurt the birth of something beautiful is
My only consolation at times like this, where the gaze
Into the void can only bring the dessert toxic
The blurt spasmodic the hurt rhapsodic. I’m blue
In a fantastical pink plastic mess. Go let the air out of
Tired lungs so lifeless air can test your devotion to
This hectic, blessed city full of dead motions steering the
Wheels turning them into screeches with dead
Eyes in autopilot perceiving only a fraction of what they
Can while naming it all real as reels. Hypnotic. I’m tired
Of your hypnosis, dressing all this
Ugliness up hiding it all behind rhymes and hooks
I feel like vanishing without consequences.
Fitting an entire galaxy of anxiety into a muffin
And eat it and call it a Sunday.
Pulse rhapsodic cataclysmic
Fire on TV trembled my tiny body.
Housing pain, bodies, our finite house
No gain or some. Maybe one.
Day. Some lessons with the outlines of my
Head growing around a static ball of
Pain. I tried calling the
Angels used an old-fashioned phone
Spiraling. Made God laugh at my absurdity. I watched my
Massive imagination taking over the
Galaxy in a tiny room
Swirling ad infinitum.
The lives alternative I could live
In a "neverland" I’ve built from the
Particles and the waves dancing,
Or anything in between. I haven’t been
Able to kill all these
Massive pessimism I haven’t been
Able to kill. Must have
Wandered off into
Some sort of alternate
My consent. So
My mourning with
Cries dry, adorned with
Occasional anxiety attacks belie
My happy posts full of color, full of life.
I was dying a little inside.
While thinking too much outside a box
I’ve called home; I’ve called head.
Made-up and unreal and derailing.
Dying a little to live a little
More. I discovered the suffocating nature
Of daydreaming amidst the mist. The fog.
This sticky summer, I intend to
Swim in. Instead of an empty
Pool full of autumn leaves, dirt
With faded Carrara marbles, I feel
Like vanishing without consequences.
Fitting an entire galaxy of anxiety within
A faded, forced smile Mona Lisa.
Smile some more
So you can be untorn.
The air of the past inundating my being with
More air to suffocate me
Melodies by Imogen
Heap dancing on and on
Within a mind pretending
To float free.
Tides like grief: a stream-of-consciousness prose piece
Been carrying so many tears bleeding swimming in an infinity blood pool I’ve been carrying so many foreign hearts that I am glorifying a war zone adorn it like a Christmas tree blinding left to rot to die out of season I love how time pretends to stand still against snowless sunlight visiting my windowsill welcome all the air in I’ve been burning all this sage to gain some pages to wash a mind attacked with depressive episodes sneaking in my bed my head like soft insects with spiral shells they carry on their backs I wonder what my head’s shell would look like given all the chaos the diamond the rough the tough life I’ve built for myself out of thin air must be what imagination attracts at times subtracts so we can live in accordance with tides like grief add some artificial joy artificial envy so the artificial intelligence knows what it is like to live in a digital world as a lost human—