Dream Diary

Last night I dreamt that when I rubbed my eyes it shattered, and pieces of glass stuck to the soft flesh it incased.

I smelled the wafting scent of sage and paolo santos.

 

the disappear button

i have thought it through:

if there was a button where i can disappear, off the face off earth and my friends and family will no longer remember that i existed, i would press it

because then i wouldn’t have to drudge through daily life, like the majority and minority of human beings who live in this world where nothing is improving

and everything is getting worse. we destroy what we love and take down things in order to make convenience affordable.

i would like to disappear, not in a way that would hurt others. but i would like to slide away, like that morning dew that evaporates in the sun light, like a breeze that was blocked by the window glass.

 

Whiskey

There isn’t a whiskey that became what it is without the barrel that incased it for years.

There isn’t a bird who appreciated freedom without the cage that imprisoned it for months.

There isn’t a book that can to be without the years it spent trapped in a writer’s mind.

To the man who didn’t deserve a letter

There is more to you than I can imagine

He said to me.

The sea breeze woke me from the hazy alcohol-induced state.

But you know we aren’t compatible

He continues

And indeed I know exactly how I feel about us:

like short-lived fireflies, dandelions in the wind, flickers from the bonfire.

Would it be so bad

I asked

You told me that we are like the cliche of dying fireworks, Christmas lights after Christmas, outdated receipts.

In the same space, our perceptions completely different.

Death wish

I didn’t realise before that my death wish consisted of some McWings and a Sausage McMuffin

it tasted so good, between gnawing and cartilages

the bite of flesh and crispy skin.

Suggestion

Welcome my friend to this good session

of well-intended meditation

aiming to rid your medication

and focus on the current motion.

Don’t worry too much about the notion

of listening to wave and sounds of the ocean.

The only point of all this commotion

is to rid you of those stupid potions.

“How” you ask “do you not ration

with the idea of predilections?”

“Well” I say “if you must mention

the truth is I don’t ever question. “

Tunnel Vision

There is nothing scarier than going into a tunnel

that is unfamiliar and hostile

with its back ends and blurry bricks that fly past you in haste with the speed

you chose to go forward in.

The sound of a hollow cave and rebounding echoes that go

deeper into the future, into the hole in front

like a sink with a deep drain that rumbles longer than you spit

and you start to stare into the black hole and wonder.

Wind whistles in the holes of the walls that engulf you,

from the left to the front to the right.

Wind after bend to another edge you seem to keep hurtling towards a direction

in which no one understands:

it isn’t north, south, east, or west,

it is forward into the unknown, into the

collapsing pandemonium of bricks and rubble;

into the distance in no one has travelled but you,

on your own you shall journey into the darkest abyss

in hopes if finding a candle light.

Seared

I stared into the sun just to wonder how long it would last behind my lids, seared as a white, flaming circlet against a backdrop of red. It almost started to hurt my eyes when I blinked, slowly I looked away and every time I closed my eyes it was there too, just floating nonchalantly unlike me, comfortably sitting in the space that is my eyelid.

 

Scrambling

My brain was rambling and scrambling
for the closest exit I could find
which really I could not see nor hear nor taste.

I have no limits to eating, I fill myself up to the very fullest because
somehow after devouring bowls and plates my stomach is full but I am still empty.

And my feet —  why do they feel so heavy?
I can almost feel how the tracks are left in the concrete floor
as I dragged my heavy metal legs back into my room.

Then I stare at the bed, because I don’t want to keep sleeping
but am so tired to do anything else, I can’t feel motivated.

And I drag myself out again to the pantry, and I open
and close
and open
and close the fridge.

My brain is rambling and scrambling the eggs in my mind,
the potential of today — a wasted day!

And I drag myself back again with rambling words and scrambling minds.

 

Blue is

Blue is the colour of the sky and the sea, and the roadsign where you left me. Like an uncontrollable spinning whirl, I saw the blue rage like the brightest flame and die down to a dark velvet hue like the sea when it rests at night. It is the tile on a Gaudi wall, the paint on a Monet sky. The blue smacks me and stains my skin like the bruises on my knees, it becomes the coarse denim jacket that I wore on a night that was too cold for thin blue fabric. It becomes the small details in life: my ball point pen mark on the inner side of my left thigh, the stray piece of string sticking out from the collar of my shirt, the blue reflected on my glasses from the computer screen. It creeps under my skin and becomes my veins, just skin-deep and untouchable. Returning, returning to the faint blue sky above my head.