Realities of the Mind
I write poetry. I may let you read my work sometime. I am straightforward and to the point. I may be very offensive; so if you don't like it, don't talk to me. I am looking to meet creative, smart, and contrastive people. I am very diverse; so if you think I am weird, that is your problem.
-
As democracy
Picks its teeth with our bones,
We stand by,
Oblivious, impervious.
Immersed
In a ruptured environment.
Sun rays
Sink into the brain,
Draining the last
Of individuality.
Our wars
Continue to peel away
Rotten
And peeled hearts.
We are left to wonder
What significant reason
We attain to destroy.
We are left to wander
Highways of lies,
This idiocy we allow
To run our home
Has led us far from any order.
The darkest caverns you enter,
As choices are forced upon another.
As illusion moralities
Are forced into the psyche
We believe a grand facade,
Swallowing everything that is told.
These mirrors of mirage
Slowly hallow out ones soul.
We were born into this.
Grown into this.
War,
For what?
For that name of power
And materialism.
To show the real inside
Of Americas heart.
To show what was always known
From the start. -
I see through your intentions,
Your smile of facade.
I see what you give me
As you burn it all away.
Shatter the mirror,
It will do nothing.
You are your creator.
Inside your mind
Is white.
Shredded
And crippled,
As a soul vanishes to mist.
The vows,
Promises to be kept,
Never there from the start. -
Individuality
Is a mirage long lost.
We portray
What is needed.
When did it fade?
Dissipate?
Evaporate,
Vanish.
Reality stabs
Like an arrow
To the chest.
Inception
Leads on
To the death.
What we show
Is what we get.
This is the veil
We are surrounded by.
These are the shadows
We lurk.
Try
Try
Try
To hide.
How far will you get? -
As he sits,
Drink in one hand,
Other going for the bottle.
There he thinks,
Too much demand,
To much to swallow.
Rhyming is gay,
I know,
Yet it catches me
Into some type of flow.
Downers go down,
While more is downed
And drowned.
Suffocated on fumes,
Toxic waste of my making
Decapitated in truth,
Not much time left waiting. -
The room sat lit, faded candles dripping into endless wax. Darkness echoed throughout the walls. A bed sat to the right of the entrance, nightstand cluttered with various objects. Lighters, notebooks, and pens littered the room. A closet half filled with worn out clothes, most of them dirty. It was coming to laundry time, but there were many other important matters to mind. There was a door on the left side leading to the bathroom, a melted in kitchen and an almost empty fridge in the corner. The man sat cross-legged on the bed, scribbling away. An empty dream, full of broken promises and severed words. He goes for another swig of vodka, and continues on.
Suddenly there is a knocking at the door, “BAM BAM BAM.” He shuffles silently off the bed and slightly peeks out the peephole. Landlady, back for more blood. “BAM BAM BAM.” “I know you’re in there Harry, you’re three days late on rent.” Harry opens the door a crack and lies profusely.
“I know Martha. Please understand, my little girl is in the hospital, and I have had the worst cold for almost a week so I have been unable to work.”
“Sure, sure. Same old bullshit right? You don’t have my money by tomorrow then you’re out of here.”
“I will darling, I promise.”
“Don’t you call me no darling, be ready to pack it up.”
The door is closed, no worries. He is used to this routine by now. Broke, nowhere to turn. Paths long gone astray and bridges burnt. Harry walks over to the bedside table and reaches for another pill, swallowing this down with a swig of cheap vodka. How much long will this hell be needed? When will he finally just waste away. It is time for another life on the streets. What ever happened to family? Friends? Acquaintances at least? Everything seems lost. He sits on the crusty old bed, writes another poem,
“Drowned in hallowed luck,
Everything wasted and grey.
Insects crawl the face of the earth
Among decay and disarray.
There is a light
Attempted to shine through,
But I will never allow it.
I do not need others to see
What might burn out and fade.
We struggle,
The blinds and the light
Clashing together.
I will douse it in rum.
Block it with empty tablets
And chemical fires.
I am sure it would love
To be seen and appreciated,
But where is my appreciation?
Sunlight has again dawn upon
As I sit here
In my own darkness,
Solace.
My prized possession,
Attempting avoidance of confession.
There is no need.
I will drown my flame,
Loosing myself in seas of vodka.
Rum, Gin, Tonic;
Whatever prevails?
I shall continue until it fails.”
This has come to what point? Drinking one to sleep, knocking him back; again and again, it will never fail. This is what has become destined, at least he figures so. This is where we stand.
