Questions and Answers

Hello?

Let's get rid of the age-old answers

To questions ad infinitum.

I'm alone

I'm alone.

I'm alone.

I can't find you.

I'm attached to your brain.

Someone needs a wash.

Yes, I'm sticky

Sticky

Sticky.

Could you spare a stick of glue?

Oh no, where is the formaldehyde?

Out of stock, the soul-less.

I keep it in my fingertips.

None to spare.

Convert the energy?

Oh, no.

I keep it to settle fights within you.

No control in glue.

More Beauty

THIS IS MY FUCKING MIND

I will break your pens

And stomp on your feet

And tear off the outer

Leaving you naked and powerless.

You have no control

With your empty words.

Now fuck off so I can get some rest.

Creative Overflow

I haven't written anything on here for a while but lately I have been on a poetry purge fest. Here goes:

Goodbye

(3x3x3)

Sweat falls down

No evaporation, but

No room inside.

She could go,

Make room together

Hide the screaming

But still cold

Is she forever,

Waiting for explosions.

Forgiveness

Transcend my love

That pusses out in the wild heat

But I am suspended

In a still sleep among breeze.

The water is gone, with

A lemon in its glass

Caught in the spill.

No food

No sleep

No time

Forgotten.

Forced Duality

(3x2x5)

My head shows me things

Some from the devil himself

Others as signs from heaven.

I'm a restrained, angry prophet

For no clear, tangible reason.

My only freedom is words.

Dichotomy Poems...

Richie

Our beautiful lies

Shot through with

A plane ticket

And empty "I love yous"

He screams rationality

While I fill our

Conversations with tears.

Why, Richie, why?

Our love was just a blip of time to you

At least based on my assumptions.

Why, Richie, why?

You are the only true love I have ever known

You had me at your stare

Cigarettes

Coffee

Mental Hospitals

But it must have been too little

To give you the strength

To face distance and time.

Why, Richie, why?

I love you vulnerably

No half-baked games

Or walls to stay safe.

You have my heart

But that must not be enough.

Why, Richie, why?

Richard

You live home safe

Yet I provide you refuge

But bombs left you

Rearranged and calloused.

Your next chapter seizes you

With dollar signs and supposed respect

It is time to go, Richard.

Our dances filled me with moments of love

Ones that I will always cherish

Through time.

Sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars

And sleepless nights

But we lost our capacity for memories.

It is time to go, Richard.

One by one is magic

But one will become eighteen

Look at those devils, webcam and half-apologetic

Conversations. They will only prolong the misery

Of a truth I already face.

It is time to go, Richard.

What we had

Will forever grip my heart.

But to continue

Is to suffer every moment.

This halt is far less painful

Than forced strings between us.

It is time to go, Richard.

Kitty (Richie with opposite nouns)

Our beautiful truths

Shot through with

A train ticket

And empty "I love mes"

She screams emotion

While he fills our

Silence with smiles.

Why, Kitty, why?

Our hate was just a span of space to me

At least based on my observations.

Why, Kitty, why?

I am the only true hate you have ever not met

I had you at my distracted eye

Gum

Tea

Mental homes.

But no one must have been too large

To give me the weakness

To face presence and space.

Why, Kitty, why?

You hate me confidently

No half-baked reality

Or openings to stay in danger.

I have your head

But this must be barren.

Why, Kitty, why?

Favorite quote if the day: "The bird sings with its fingers."

More to come...

The Daily Grind

Spin around in the largely small patterns. Our only hope is in quick freedoms from it- expression.

Sometimes I have to push through life to get a handful of precious jewels- ones that I will keep forever, even in heaven. Patterns just melt away like the tears of expectation.

Why?

Let's see...Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

I'd say I have one foot in bargaining and the other in depression.

Death is like a an infinite weight on my back...when I think about it, even for a little bit, the weight crushes me. It is so abstract, because no one really knows the details.  All we know is that everything that lives must die.  What happens after death is a mental free for all. 

I wish I could chop up my fear of death into bight-size little pieces. Until then, it is a concept that I cannot (or refuse to?) swallow.

Maybe I'm just mad because the overwhelming sadness I feel about my mom and my cat bars me from accepting/understanding/not understanding death.

How do I even go to see my cat tomorrow? It is simple- spend time with her. Everytime I look at her, though, I just see this huge clock, and every tick-tock is one second less that I will have her in my life.

Laments

My cat is dying. That is, she has 6 months to a year to live. I found out today and I exploded in emotion over everything- my mom, my cat...why must everything that lives die? I selfishly want to keep every soul that touches me away from God. I want my cat to live a healthy age of forever and my mom, an eternity. That, like most other things, is out of my control. God's will is out of my control. I take comfort in knowing that I know nothing- I don't know what God's plan is, what he/she wants, what I need. If I do not know, I cannot control. Yet, my heart is still crying. There is a lump in my throat that I cannot swallow. My emotions exist. They demand that I get tattoos dedicated to my cats and my mom and that I cry and cry and cry until I have nothing left. I want a better perception of death. I want to be able to accept this natural step in the circle of life. I'm just like Oedipus or Willy Loman or Hamlet...I'm arguing with a fate I cannot fight.

Stop fighting, Kathryn.
Stop fighting, Kat.
Stop fighting, little girl.
Let go.

"Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by the sight of dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. . . . Now if death is like this, I say that to die is gain; for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is a journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead are, what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this? . . . What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. . . . Above all, I shall be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in that; I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise, and is not. . . . The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways--I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows." - Plato, from The Trial and Death of Socrates

...

You are the bright orange embers of my cigarette.