There was a time I would chase you.
One where I’d want to win so much I’d fold all my pieces I can tell you would adore before peacocking around in displays of a lesser love.
I’d flirt like an Eames Era harlot, victim, or assassin depending on the best to suit you.
These falseness fangs allude me most days now.
More human than ever.
And it just doesn’t interest me really. Not quite like getting to know someone’s bones or celebrating their victories over their loses.
It’s left me on other planets.
Or swimming in tesseracts far from the fingerprints of such a vain instant gratification world.
Left me in such solitude, I already so greatly admire and adore, I may just dissipate much like I appear.
So I leave it to everyone else to ask about what they need to know about me before just flittering back to the places stars are born.
I used to care about this more too.
I’d feel bad about owing someone something for their time or attention.
But it’s beyond me lately.
It’s my hair I’m growing to several feet of length for other dues or dedications.
It’s the only thing I can do after work for other people anymore.
The pieces of Amor Fati sprawl as Nietzsche pours another coffee for change or chaos or choice because schools of thought splattered like rain as the strings tug away the day.
A funeral but for the things I have to tell myself sometimes to just breathe.
A eulogy for all the things turreted towards me I thought I could help, or fix, or get back on track but never did.
A pyre lit for all the potential I see in people that they never discovered of themselves burning with the oil made of the pain that has resulted because of this.
What do people do after this?
Lost broken hope,
Every bit deep enough inside themselves just hoping one day it’s a Pandora’s box with someone else opening it thousands of years away unleashing it’s empathy back into light.
If I had hope currently, I’d believe that but it must have gone in with the rest while I wasn’t paying attention.
So I’ll just wait here. Because I’m tired of kind of always just holding it up anyway. I probably deserve a break.
Fighting the battle daily
Of the new found movement of unrealistic reality.
My heart screams no,
As it attempts to control the bleed
Created by the lack of inclination.
The war rages heavily on,
Marking each new meeting
It’s very own two sided coin.
And my hands tremble at the thought
Of the required flip.
I used to be so very sure.
I used to let my glowing loving fire,
Dictate my fate-
Because I knew it was civilized.
But tapered swords
Replaced earnest convention
As I melded into
The funeral pyre of anti-climatic commonality.
And I’m left torn between who I am and who I was
With no desire-
Sorrowing for the writer
Like it wasn’t even me typing the soliloquy.
I hope I’ll make it back home at the end of the story.
Soldier of Growing Indifference:budmedia
Song of the New Temporary Assembly: Black Mountain- Queens Will Play