MeishkaBokeh

You handed me a rose,
But I could not distinguish its soft red petals
From the ghastly thorns which were coating its spine.
For how many sleepless nights have the maddening echoes,
Which bounce aimlessly across the corridors,
Been my only companion?

 Every aching second has been a blade,
Cast deep into the flesh of the future;
Puncturing holes through the fluid membrane
Surrounding love and acceptance.
But if I could measure my life in minutes,
Each hour would chime the death of a memory
Disintegrating into ashes of nostalgia;
Merely increments of time
Which hold no true sustenance.

In an attempt to feel what has been forgotten,
I would prick my finger,
Believing that the ruby blood would spill
To create a river that I may forever float upon;
Expanding veins which flow together,
To keep one body breathing
To keep both of our bodies encased in immortality.
But how is one expected to process oxygen,
If it were never present at birth?

When the world appeared empty,
And lingering souls did not pass
Mournful silence would wrap me tight within her clutch.
A hug as cold as a stone,
And as steady as a grief stricken vixen.
Helplessness I could not reason with,
A yearning, which could not be soothed.

(Where was my moment of truth?)

 So when you taught me how to love,
I dove into the abysmal water.
Swimming though currents of passion
I plucked the deepest petal from your garden
And presented it to your lips
To prove to you that I was not blind;
Your intentions were not braille,
And my inability to recognize affection was not permanent.

The rose has not yet faded.
My moment of truth;
Revealed.

I will never look back. All day I have been deeply contemplating my life and I have come to the conclusion that I do not want any possessions, I do not want a house nor a car, I don’t need anybody…I’m free. The road is my home. Owning a “home,” is more of a burden than I can handle. I don’t wish to take off and feel obligated to return to any one particular place. I just want to go and keep on going…no strings attached. Find temporary shelter, live without boundaries, survive somehow and escape a “normal” life.  And guess what? I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m not hopeless. It’s all possible. Traveling the city alone is liberating; I feel compelled to walk and never look back. No goal. No destination. Nothing. Meeting people, moving on, venturing all that the world has to offer. Give up the anxiety, the stress of others, the negativity that comes with friends and family.  I shall be a nomad, and I’m perfectly content with giving it all up to become a nobody. I’m already a loner; I always have been. But now, I’m a loner who has the strength and capability to address my own independence. At the same time, I’m heavily contemplating starting anew and completely changing my persona that I currently relish within.  Cut off all my hair, dye it white, get some rad shades, wear clothing I’d never be caught dead in, go by a different name (not legally changing my name, but just a nickname to people whom don’t know me) Live my life as somebody else, because I’m bored with it all and living in this manner could offer me the freedom to explore the inner depths of myself in a new way. I’m not gay, yet I could live as a dude if I wished. Yet again, I could identity as genderless and just look/do whatever I am feeling. I could love anybody; I could hide these girly undertones. Maybe I’m going through a very early mid-life crisis. I’ve always believed I was an old soul. Something has always been different about me than most. There is something in my chest; a ball of anxious wandering energy that wishes to be addressed. My mind does not rest and my body compels me to move with the tide. I’m never the same person I was when I awoke in the morning. I change so much I can’t possibility keep track of who I am. So many conflicting thoughts. So many conflicting views. All changing with the rising and falling of the sun. Ultimately, I have no plans for the future. I only wish to be happy and live in a manner that brings me happiness; by god I will live free, because this is the only form of true happiness I desire. There is nothing holding me back. Everybody keeps telling me I need a job, I should go to college, I’m going to settle down eventually and I will need the money to buy a car…..Fuck it all. I don’t need any goddamn materialistic shit. Yes, I agree that I need a few spare dollars, but a job is going to tie me down, as with college. Debt is disgusting. I need the clothes on my back, food, water and a place to occasionally sleep. Other than that, the American dream can go to hell, and I’ll just keep on laughing at the supposed “reality” everyone else dwells within.  I’m an aesthetic voyager. By god I am going to live the life I want. 

I heard the sleepy sigh
Of the melting sky,
Vanish like a misty spirit,
Cloaked in shades of red.

And I watched the mellow shadows creep,
On the grainy floorboards,
Like a slinking cat with astral eyes,
Warping into existence.

All the while,
Red murmured to Passion,
Whispering "sweet nothings"
Into virgin ears.
Piercing the veil of my mind,
And spilling the contents
Of my heart.

His light blue morning love,
And my grey night sky eyes,
Contrast the humble force
Of the moon and sun,
And as the sun caresses the moon,
He create a song with his hands,
Touching the light for but a moment,
Plucking galaxies from above;
And wrapping them in my hair.

But he is like the night,
And I like a distance star,
Among a body covered in constellations,
And a mind speckled,
With celestial scars.

This yellow morning romance,
Wrapped in soulful silence,
Drove the stars to explode
From internal bodies.

Tearing the cavity of my chest,
So that he may crawl inside,
Bleeding beauty,
and spitting asteroids,

So that we,
Could linger eternally.

And eventually,
Suffer from gravitational collapse.

My lips may forever be stained with your name.

There is a valley within the mind,

Orchestrating a melancholy symphony,

Only I can hear.

 

It radiates a bittersweet tranquility,

With velvet tears,

That shimmer flecks,

Of schizophrenia.

 

And although it may comfort you,

 It does not care to hear,

Your internal song of solitude,

Plucking away like a melancholy creek bed,

Under the cover of obscured tides.

 

It was born of crimson indignation,

With deep red petals,

Spikes and thorns,

Soft to the touch

But drenched in poison.

 

And it listens,

But then repents.

Drowns you,

Then revives you with pleasure.

 

It is the lone call of a crow,

Bleeding through the bars of a bared soul,

Pointing a pistol,

Through the metal cage,

Surrounding your heart.

 

It is a descent into madness.

A never ending fog,

Which tastes of bloodstained tobacco,

 Dried to the lips,

Of a dying maiden.

What would you say to me,

If the black face of death

Consumed the tides of emotion,

And the moon began to shatter

Into a million tiny fragments.

Its humble soul internally exploding,

Like the face of an angry child,

Cradled within the nursery of a timeless crater.

 

How would you forgive me,

If I were to poison you

With a concoction as toxic as loneliness.

Injected into your veins,

Like an ocean,

Withering from the pollution

Of man’s thorny finger.

 

Would you hate me,

If my blood stuck to the scalp

Of a virgins holy garden,

Fruitful, vibrant, and green with envy.

A melting conscience,

Among a thousand frozen faces.

Like a sacrifice,

 Squirming anxiously before the grotesque face

 Of the divine.

 

And could you still love me,

If the breeze of tomorrow

Were to linger eternally.

Dancing amongst the velvety shadow

Of a kindred soul.

 

What would you say to me?

What would you say.