Choke

The Silence
It's choking me
And it braved a long path
Endured a long journey
To find me.

Lela

Les Deux Mondes

Concrete and Bedsheets

I'd like to take my rebellion elsewhere
But it's forcing me to accept its presence
And my nonchalance had nothing better to do
Than accompany me today.

So I bring them along
In tandem and flanking my mind
Combating to win my decision
And alleviate me of my own doubtful precision.

And since I'm the person
Who likes to overdo things
Overcaffeinate
Overwork
Overthink
…I'm over it.
And my hands are convinced
Simply sure
That they can outrun my fluid thoughts
And it's torture to watch them
Race to the finish line.

Finish. Finish at the halfway point.
And tell me how you feel.
When you think you're done.

Who cares what need means?
You're pushing me back there.
When I don't want to go there.
And asking for resistance there

Is a futile effort of epic proportions.

I know because I see it
Written all over the walls
And walls are only meant for containment
And containment produces insanity
And if insanity is repeating the same action
And expecting a different result
I'd love to gauge my own
Since my life is on a loop
And it's skipping tracks as we speak.

We're cast in concrete like phone poles
And in bedsheets like butterflies
And we're hiding from the world like it had always done us wrong
And what’s wrong is our malcontent
Our Overs
Overanalyzing. Overhauling. Overdone.
And this periodic dissonance
Has me smiling ear to ear
That simultaneous eruption of tones
Conventionally described as in a state of unrest
And needing completion
Speaks to the nature of me now
And I'd rather embrace its incongruity
Than pretend to love perfection.

4/4

The hands of time took my disarray
Folded it into what I thought was a tear-proof existence
And the fleeting flushing of clarity revealed itself
As an empty matter
And settled into its featherweight reality.


And so often it is
We wander straight lines marked with
Red tape and masochism
We know our restless hands produce futile efforts
When the music never changes.


It's like we're falling away into that no-place
The one with coordinates like a 4/4 time signature
And street signs made from tempered glass
That only point to the exits
The ones with the locked doors.


And, I think
It was in the stretching hallway of question
When the silence of consequence screamed so loudly
In my ear
…"Nothing", it told me.


We could take those black paths
Because walking isn't pointless
When the steps have deepened purpose
And the pace is set appropriately
To match the beating of our hearts.

Untitled #5

Yesterday
I saw something
I thought it was my future
Looming there
But it was so bright
Brilliant with this
Aching Clarity.
And when asked to describe it...
I could only say "you"
And hope that it would capture
Those best moments
Somewhere between
Weightlessness and
Ending.

Untitled #4

It's odd how time passes
Moves along like it's the only thing that matters

Passes us without concern

For the way it makes us feel.

How it affects our pace

How it dominates thought.

Funny thing, time.






It's odd how people live.

Relinquish their dignity

For the sake of contempt

Fueled by spite

Raw with obsession

Funny thing, people.






It's mesmerizing how things work

How pieces fit together

How masses fall apart.

How nothing is as it seems

Until it's assumed to be imperfect.

Funny thing, things.






It's confusing how we exist

With so many boundaries

With no boundaries at all.

Rules and roadblocks and hiccups

A life less tragedy

A life less sorrow

A lifeless sorrow.


Funny thing, existence.

Untitled #3

...And I would ask the wind
To take me to your doorstep...
Thus the arrival swift
And method elegant.
...And I would hold the ground there
Until we blow away together.