August 18, 2016

Guys, I cant do this.

I cant sit here and comb through this—

Looking at whatever emotional angle

As I return to the house I live at

Where discontent floats like a ghost

through a cat-scented museum

where every day is spun into the one before… and after.

I can’t care—

For the injustice, the anger, the emotion

I’m so sorry.

I can’t feel right now. In some kind of cyclical sandstorm within the depths of myself. My apathy to your perspective condition, makes me feel barren

As if; burning

in the firestorm of my everyday

hardened over my fragility

I can’t love—

I’m overwhelmed in the rage.

Consumed and distracted

In this cacophony

I want to cry out:

Relieve me of my thoughts

Lift me from this wreckage

Heal my wounds

make me whole

but my voice is swept away in the sound

diluted into absurdity

lost to conversation.

Beauty is not something to be obsessed over—

It is something that is experienced

Chiseled into us as we pass through it

And I realize so painfully
this has become integrated within me

the inconsequentiality

of any two-dimensional world.