reflections

 

would you look at me
I am the distraught juggler
the chameleon
I am the keeper with my head
between the jaws of the lion

I’m the surgeon with
a butcher knife clutched to my neck
the cursed child
the crazy woman
I am the abandoned brother

I’m the prophet god lied to
the crucifix turned into a dagger
the impenitent thief
I am the last supper

I’m the wrong timing
the rain cancelling a festival
I am a ladder
I’m the lottery ticket lying in the gutter

I’m the pianist with Parkinson’s
the limping knight
the dancer bleeding on stage
I am the painter running out of color

I’m a missed shot
the alluring toxic couple
a collection of dismantled almosts
I am a series of unfortunate events

I’m the unanswered question
the underwhelming first kiss
the useless invention
I am a musical joke

go ahead and read
what the pretentious nihilist in
a pit of darkness
writes as she attempts
to tell you what she cannot tell herself

3 Gymnopédies

 

Do you ever forget that classical music exists? Then when you remember and start listening, you’re reminded of
rain,
and cars,
and a breath fogging up the glass
of some windows.

When I put it on Gymnopédie No. 1, I was reminded of tall, dark green trees
and grey skies;
of damp tree stumps,
and cold air stinging my eyes.
Laughter,
and tears right after I fall,
scraping my palms.
Smoke,
through an open window.
Mornings,
sunshine, drying up mud.
Coffee,
too sweet,
winter.

I miss winter.
I miss its mornings,
and its nights.
I miss my umbrella.

When Gymnopédie No. 2 began, I started thinking about the future.
I’ll have a cat
and not many things.
I’ll learn to dance,
better.
I’ll quit smoking,
for good.
I’ll stick with one hair color.
I’ll see the stars again,
somehow.
I’ll learn french,
and how to cook.
I’ll read a book,
every week.
I’ll watch a movie on Sundays,
I’ll stay up,
but I’ll go to work on time the next day.
I’ll have ten articles of clothing,
two shoes,
and seven socks.
I’ll learn to sing,
and play the piano.
I’ll write religiously,
before I sleep.
I’ll drink my coffee without milk.
No.
I won’t drink coffee.
I’ll drink tea,
without sugar.
I’ll have bottles of wine,
hidden everywhere.
I will let strangers into my house.
I will let strangers into my heart.
I’ll go camping,
in autumn.
I’ll climb a mountain,
and every summer I’ll go somewhere nice,
somewhere with water,
or breeze,
or booze.

Gymnopédie No. 3 is making me realize things I would usually avoid thinking about.
For instance,
I have never been in love.
The thought is comforting.

Thank you, Erik Satie.

anhedonia

 

I sit on a cloud of red
plummeting in the air
pulled by gravity
I need to carry my head

I downed one
three
five
elixirs
but I can still count
something must be wrong
why am I not numb

sounds bounce off the walls
of my eyes
I can still remember
everything I heard
the falls, the calls, the gongs

I wait for the fury
to come
I yearn for the wrath
but I am drowned
in a hail
of indifference
obscurely

the hollowness has grown so deep
every word that enters
has an echo
and no two words ever meet

ghosts are watching the lunatic
they know their time has come
the dead arise
onto my pages
the memories spill
from my ink

it’s you and you and you
all of this mistrust
all this disillusion
it’s because
you knew
but still
you threw
the truth
in a chute

I have seen enough to know
that every single one of you
wants a different version
of the same show

in the morning I
will pour out my insides
but not my thoughts
not my sentiments
until then I’ll
watch my legs liquify
and wish that
there would come a time
when we didn’t say goodbye

Promises, promises.

 

I have discovered the secret of life,
the purpose of existence.
I have cracked the big question,
I know why we’re here.

I will tell you, but first,

you have to tell me your deepest secret,
show me your favorite movie,
put on your favorite song.

I promise I’ll tell you,

but you have to take off your clothes first,
you must dance with me,
and you ought to have my babies.

I know it’s hard to believe at this point,
but I swear by everything I hold sacred,
I will tell you,

but first,

you have to go to war with me,
and you have to lose someone you love.
You must wake up at four in the morning,
with dry eyes and tear stained pillows.

One more request and I will tell you.

You have to give your belongings away,
maybe give an organ too,
then, lastly and most importantly,
you must perish and be no more.

static electricity

trees are waiting
their leaves refuse to fall
the sun burns nervously
pointlessly trying to stall
its inescapable death
rivers tiptoe
oceans sit still
the planet holds its breath

everything is on pause
the present
the future
the rights
the wrongs
the do’s
the don’ts

everyone holds
onto their seat tightly
anticipating the
inevitable crash
explosion
collateral damage
their own futile backlash

love awaits at the window
pain, at the door
and we’re stuck in limbo
we’re cowards
who want to explore
safely

there is no safety
there is no comfort in truth
there’s no arson without flames
there is no victory
without wounds
there is no dancing
with no sweat
there are no leaps
without dread
there are no earthquakes
without chaos
there are no riots
with rules

the clock is ticking
malicious, cunning, and killing
peaks are on the horizon
a mountain buries a mountain
don’t let the climax
frighten you
don’t let the jump
scare you off

find lightening
thunder
storms
in places
you aren’t supposed to
let yourself drown in something
much more corrupt than you
risk everything
gamble, make your bid
or you’ll spend the rest of your life
wishing that you did

y o u

you are the walls surrounding this city
you are the cracks in the walls

you are the bars decorating this prison
you are the hands holding onto the bars

you are the boards keeping this book closed
you are the bookmark slipping

you are the veil hiding this face
you are the eyes shining through

you are the handcuffs holding these wrists
you are the veins bleeding in frustration

you are the tyrant ruling this country
you are the rebellion rising at dawn

you are the hands strangling this neck
you are the sigh of relief

you are the curtains blocking this sunlight
you are the wind blowing the curtains

you are the prophet forbidding this love
you are the nymphet making him sin

you are the god that made this world
you are the human who will destroy it

intrusive thoughts

René Magritte’s
this is not a pipe

a self portrait
this is not a life

you are infusion
i’m a drip chamber

i long
for your trickle

you see me
across the river

glaring at you
hurling chalky rocks

i need you to
teach me how to love

hearts don’t break
the tear

and sometimes they burst
at the seams

when they carry what
they can’t bear

silence is darkness
silence is a grave

it is the music of
the people who are

enslaved by
the words they never say