Vibrations

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in an onslaught of text-less text
which read as indiscriminate neurosis
in the epiphany of a mind
so tangled up in itself
that its hemispheres have merged.

Dystopia!
Dystopia; A caffeine rush comedown in the sunset
in the afternoon
on pinewood floors and chalkboards
of sentiment, tack, and iron walls.

With your head in a cage
the ultimate ponder of pointless
encapsulates the world
into a hamster wheel rodeo
which I am struggling to hold on to.


Vibrations and sighs have become familiar
in each waking hour
each escapist third
out of mind,
into the fingers,
onto the screen to my impatience,
to the depths of my heart and
sink.

Stanzas’ of thoughts
shared but not desired
into seemingly oblivious state of tranquillity.
If only you could see whose eyes
are mine?

In tears of salt
and seasoned ego
lay fear,
and repression,
and sentiment,
lying dormant,
in the recesses of the soul;
but not for you,
and not for her,
and not for anybody that isn’t her,
if she even existed at all.

The howl is my cry,
the road is my path,
the lunch and the dharma are my feast of truth.
The vegetable kingdom is my royalty,
the buzz of the razor is my one guard.

The wok is my pride,
the bean is my vice,
the pattern is mine,
and the dialogue is mine.
The rest is all yours,
but nothing we share,
and nothing I hold;
I can share,
but not rest.

The crunch
of the cold and bitter green ignorance
is pushing me further into independance
in which I am dependant on cognition.

My fingers are burned to the nth degree,
I am not you
but I am not me,
for you.