A Poet's in the Corner: The Room

Darkened by silence
Swallowed by silence
Ingested
Engulfed
Consumed
Deafeningly loud
I can't speak in it
Or relay sound against sturdy walls
Reverberate
Multiply
And die
Relate
Those sounds
So luscious and full
That they satiate me
My satiety
So hungry
I wipe my plate clean
Touch to the tip of my tongue
Flavor deep
Complex
Ridiculous
Intangible thoughts
Nuclear explosions
Full
Laughter
Embarrassment
Collapse back into silence
Drink a cup of it
Delicious

Incurable Circumstances

You ever wish you could jump off a bridge and fall into a perfect place?

Because I believe I've manage to f*ck up everything I've ever cared about.

And it just seems to be me.

Why?
That's a good question.

All I know is:
I'm beginning to feel like a leeching vermin that sucks out the remains of life.
It deflates me.
Ruins me.
Disappoints me.

I wish I could forever be on the other side.

Sitting in a unbroken stupor.
I cannot escape this stupor.
Looking into a black river.
Sounds...
Leaping
Escaping
Bursting
Splashing
Splishing
Diving in and out of my ears.
I can't escape these sounds.
The sounds.
These sounds.

Mortician's & their Legacy: The Old Family Business

Since I was born, I have been familiar with death. My grandfather and father were morticians, and my father made me promise I'd never carry on the family business. He said I "wasn't built for it"...I could definitely agree with that...

There's always been something about death that has seemed so infinitely final to me.
Like the circle of life couldn't possibly have a dead end.
And why since the ripe age of 8 have I always seen that black hooded figure we call death,
As the largest incomprehensible stop sign I've ever seen?

I want to understand it, master it, educate myself on it,
But who could possibly know anything first hand?

It scares me.

But how can I be scared of something that has never affected the living?

The people that are living this moment are not consumed by death.
Those who are dying can't tell me about death.
Because death is the act of nothing;
It's the end.

It's incurable circumstance of having been alive.

Closer to my Dreams

I need to stop letting all my dreams hold me back.
Because being afraid of falling doesn't help you live.

I can't keep standing in my dismal reality realizing it can never be changed.
Because the truth is: anything can be spoken into existence if you believe in it.
What's this crazy world I live in alone?
Why do lashing cords keep holding my arms behind my back, diasabling me?
My brain, heart, and all seem to be connected to it.
I don't believe it could be true anymore.

Get me out of here.
Break me out of this cell.
I want out.

Joy

I laugh loud and hard,
It's the only way I've survived.