the intolerable details
the sharpness of chalk
pressing hard
the blinding white
the impossible black
only speckles now
the trifling technicalities
the anguish of precision
reality is a heavy weight
yet my hand presses firmer still
compact against the page
only to sanction
the reign of an overwhelmed mind.
10/30/13
An innate illusion.
An intricate horror.
The promise of intrusion.
Unearthing the previously unseen.
Compressed to a neglected,
omnipresent, unacknowledged,
corner.
Mirroring walls encroaching,
regenerating a fabricated
consciousness.
The hope for primitiveness,
for something external,
something unscathed,
something inconsequential.
Imagined scrutiny.
Imagined vandalism.
Imagined terror.
If all was unveiled,
in one isolated scene,
if all was unearthed,
in an imperative horror,
would you be a sentinel
and allow the impending decline?
Would you tranquilize a
seemingly lost cause?
Or would you be an isthmus,
allowing a translucent window
into that alienated room.
A threatening epitomization.
10/27/13
There Are Memories
that bring me closer.
There Are Memories
that tear me apart.
Each A stabbing reminder
of what could have been.
Each A tender spasm
of what failed to occur
Filter of personalities
to frame unfilled necessities
Filter to live
with blinding meaning.
Remembering is forgetting.
11/30/13
An omnipresent wish,
a persistent desire
to be relevant
but also to be alone
In a self-administered detention
I exaggerate precious moments.
designing them
molding them
changing them
All to envelope,
with inexplicable precision,
what you truly crave
A hunger
only fulfilled in solitude.
A starvation
to feel more
to feel everything
But too much detachment
will bring me back
to an ever-pressing weight
crushing my chest
back to a realization
that these moments were untrue.
11/30/13