Night Vision

I do not take the darkness seriously as I do not perceive skin as it is,

nothing but a string of slightly yellow, bright light

to my eyes.

Neither do I take seriously, or even perceive, for that matter,

the lack of his lingering presence on my back.

Wishful thinking, you might say, but I'd rather dismiss it as gentle breeze,

that just happens to shroud me softly some times at night.

Why being attached to notions that do not entertain or comfort me, in times like these?

There is a math to it all, trying to deconstruct the patterns that entrap and isolate one

from recovering feelings and memories,

or from finding new ones that serve their purpose - 

such as air shaped as him, or the shiny trail left by a lightning bug that may be actually disguised as my skin.

It might still be around, if there is just enough...

Painstakingly

Sucked his cheeks in

but they didn't return

Locked tongue

and saliva

stuck

Cheeks in

his grin

they didn't return.

Pedestal

She had the rare gift of being a god without faith

or believers. Eyes roadworn, physical idol deteriorating,

but still the constant wakefulness sustained.

Sacred and inane.

Sanitary

It pours out of my mouth, silent

Only to hit the ground with a strident cry

and punch me back in the chest,

stomach and liver

Teeth sliding out

into the ocean

Water in distinct waves decoding the struggle

to breathe

through the punch that turns all incomplete

Left on a ground is it:

bundle of organs, open teeth, dirty ocean

and a voice still contained.

Wasted

Youth

Potential

Time

Experiences

Stripes

for

Dots

Ropes for Knots

Methods

Norms

Routines

Bores

Wasteful

thoughts

waiting. for the crash to take place. but disappointed.

will collide tomorrow?

Tuesday

Exhaled smoke is not always as thick as you wish it would be

It gets troubled in between the thick atmosphere

and fades rather quickly

away

Though you can still arrange the columns of dreams

even if they will not reward you enough for it

They are still the most meaningful combinations

And their sense will guarantee itself

throught the nights and the dreams

that are not burdened by physical discomfort

or sudden, killing alarm rings

that kill memories too

Dreams are memories, 

if you are not yet aware of it.

Just write them down, maybe it will help

to build down the better

combinations

of molecules

in the atmosphere

Very Unoriginal Verses and Structure (Whatever Was Meant By Then)

The discussion remains

And the body still lays in between

Outside still screams against the violence and the inside still roars

Against the silence and the waves that insist to come

Looming still is the menace, everlasting and still unsolved

A war still establishes itself, solid and concrete

While, sometimes, distraction itself invades the plot

As if a whole generation of wild nature grew its deepest weed

And broke easily the own structure's weakest spot

But distraction is blewn away by any wind

A claim is made, by the absence of any other,

that the battle is to go on

Soldiers galore, there is energy for enough violence to support

But not enough to lose or to win

Each throw of each blow brings closer the final step,

the death of one side yet to begin

But will any of each survive without the other within?

The discussion remains,

dressed as an angst apparently long knewn by the ones who watch

Though, still, both warriors face the same raging rains,

and living tears will merciless still crush

them both

Dan

The power ice possesses

of freezing each particle and frame

Each second as it remains the same

as before

I feel the same in your blissful, emotional presence

as if our moments were frozen in stone

and preserved for all eternity to see

that there is real bliss to be seen in this still world

There is enough that is not wasted

or tired or yet roadworn

There is beauty to be born

and that may survive

I hope that I won't close my eyes

until I watch such miracle unfold.

Under Cover

Her unbelieving and barely tearful eyes.

Wishing she was blind, postponing her waking tide,

she faced clear and outlined disappointment.

Not feeling damaged by her increasingly damaged health,

but actually by her increasingly conscious self,

that insisted on poking her with its sticks of shame and regret.

She felt powerless and faux to the bone,

and wished for once she was forever alone

so as not to deceive or misguide anyone in a close range to her.

There was enough damage done,

but it kept on showing over, regardless of how much of her quilt

was being lifted upon

Dependance

If that page disappeared yesterday,

would you be bothered by the gap in narrative?

The content was mostly very cryptic, subtly psychological,

and self-consciously analytical in nature,

but maybe not essential to your comprehension of the whole.

Was it ever, after all?

The page may happen to be floating to some foreign wind,

also ignorant of your story being told.

But could it really unfold in any chapter other than your own?

Words thrown to the breeze, characters lost to some weird rhyme,

scribbled in a page you may not care to even notice.

An essay on the uninteresting spirit

vanishing, without effort, on the sly.

It is not missed, neither can survive,

as it reckons in the absence of your watchful eyes.

Reflective

In my house of mirrors.
I stride and glide throughout its corridors
Followed by an accusing glance on every wall
Each perspective weighing on my silhouette a new judgement
As each step brings nigh the meeting with my own shadow
The reflections sing and dance and hop out of harmony
Each one to its own fit of madness or epiphany
But I willingly proceed on to ignoring the circus
A soft, salty breeze slipping through my heels
As the walking on continues

Surrounded but alone
Ridiculously self-aware, as if the walls didn't remind me all along
Remaining hidden from them, still
Fiercely fearful of the outside view
It may be said it is barely surviving in here
In my house of mirrors

The distortions held dear will somehow keep me company
Even if they laugh or scream in waves of pent-up anger at my naked face
In the sane confusion of these years, kept will be the pace
The pain of a fallen bird may be multiplied in such territory, but at a price fair enough if it is to see
The rising flight of victory, again
Watch I will the whole phenomenon, as grounded as ever
And as the walking on continues.

Recurring

smoke swirling

dancing

from my mouth

skywards high

smoke is whispering deeply

that it vanishes only seemingly

but remains in the eternity

of clouds

thoughts of nebula

thoughts of fire,

red thoughts of someone

i once knew