hush.

this dark deafening emancipative loneliness is what i can frequently smell, but can never taste. the gates are lifted when the cratered moon takes its fluid path along the starry sky, and the freedom rushes through like a flood. in what was once occupied by only air molecules, emotion now drowns my heart. like an empty cup suddenly and unforeseeably being rushed with a synthetic juice.

something of a darker tint. something that resembles blood, but lacks that crucial and vital iron sensation that attaches to one's tongue. that pure human taste. it's unmistakable, and unforgettable.

lately i've been existing only for this taste and these dark shadowy hours. it is the only break i can find from the complexities and melancholic waves of day to day responsibilities and conversations. to pretend i exist for anything otherwise would be borderline slanderous.

and so in sunlight, emotional colorblindness sets in.

but beneath baptismal beams of moonlight...under the immense and unfathomable star stricken sky, my pupils dilate and primal instincts get flipped on.

awake. alive. placid. revived.

bullet proof.

I don't know how to start this. sitting, trapped in a corner. Surrounded. surrounded and suffocated by clouded and spotted glass. not the white spots from a shaken tooth brush or missed windex. but the spots from something long forsaken.

a glass coffin. 4 inches thick, as dry as the sand in this desert you call a reality. how terribly tempting it is to kick violently and scream in all directions in an attempt to shatter these walls. but I sit. I'm quiet. I breathe, and I exhale with no purpose or meaning.

but soon I'm not the only one flooding this cage. soon my feet are the first to meet this new visitor.
as the day lurches on and the bright radiant sun makes its pilgrimage across the clouded sky, the tank is swimming.
& I'm beginning to do the same.

not drowning, but sitting. quietly. breathing in, and exhaling.
all the while a cold and dark wave crawls over my spine, and creeps over my shoulders. wraps and surrounds me like a blanket. warm. secure.

and as the sun goes down, the tank is full. the tank is full, just like my lungs. this is the only certainty I've ever had. and I'm in this coffin.
I'm staying alive in the pitch black. eyes cascaded with nothing but personal thoughts, and spots on the glass.

and so I sit, quietly. breathing in and exhaling with no purpose.

boom.

it wasn't that i was incapable of understanding what it is that i am comprised of. it isn't that i was blinded from my wheels and mechanisms. i just had to sit and stare. breathe and balance. open and ostensibly let it seep out.

and so since saying simple things to weary eyed wanderers, my eyes have blasted open to become more aware of what your world has to convey to this dreamer. in step, epiphany has crept into my wrinkled thoughts and begun to emit beams of starch. flattening and developing thoughts of mine and your own.

with eyelids peeled open by an invisible & transcendent hunger to know, you and yourself create a whirlwind of some otherwise inglorious sight. an exquisite survey of a night sky painted and splattered across your conventional ceiling. billions of fiery detonations travel throughout your starry cosmos in a moment's blinding flash.

and this incandescent explosion of astronomical proportions is just...

butterflies.

just a thought.

I feel like I'm doing jumping jacks into a pitch black pool. Alternating from deep and warm enveloping air, to stinging and freezing water teeming with abandonment.

Lazarus

WAKE UP.

and I did.
my eyelids peeled open like the skin of a fruit. peeling skin like a dead layer of scorched earth. stretching and snapping. awoken from the deepest sleep you've ever fallen into.
raised again like Lazarus from the dead, eyes struggling to focus while the light pours into pupils like a mouthful of blood washed down the drain.
catapulting straight up and finding yourself in a ninety degree angle, arms outstreched grasping for a whisp of vanishing sanity. evaporating like smoke from my mouth. from your mouth.

tack up. bleed dry. left empty.

a quote

"That song kind of flows all over the place with different ideas, but the main idea being rebirth and rebuilding and taking a well needed bath, you know? i did a little it of that in the last year & it's great to clear your head, get rid of everything, then you realize normally you can only see like ten feet in front of you because the fog is so dense of all the chemicals in your mind once you clear it all away & you can see forever then you immediately get scared and realize why you take all of those things all the time. it's good to at least visit that once in a while, clarity." -Conor Oberst

for you, great youth.

why on this tiny little planet do i care? what about this name keeps my stomach twisting and my mind conscious until early morning hours?

and to preach in secret to a nocturnal choir. a group of individuals clad in dark clothing supporting my lofty ideas. "hallelujah" they'll say and at once everyone understands. rushing to spit words into the microphone, to feed knowledge.

commandeering wavelengths and high-jacking frequencies that dig into your brain so deep that you'll never be able to shut your eyes again. you'll just come pouring out of your room and bury your head into my neck, tears rolling down like fresh rain drops on a window pane.

and to Jack, who i once wanted to be in an instant, i scream that i am a writer.

and to me, Jack understands, and applauds. the whole room rises to their feet as my palms begin to sweat. deeply rooted like the firmly stationed podium…i can sway but never topple. and erupting, the room splatters applause against the white walls, like an artistic depiction of a one way ticket to everywhere.