Where’d the sunlight go, and to where all the shade?
Both have left walking – quite rudely, I’d say.
What shall we do without darkness or light?
Wherefore the sun? Wherefore now the night?
We cannot go on in this timeless abyss, this
Spiral of seconds that do not exist.
Confined in the circle of what was and not yet is
We wait for awake – and asleep – to be fixed.
If I don’t escape soon, I fear I’ll soon give in
But how can I give in with nothing to resist?
Why don’t I cast a bottle into the sea
Beckoning someone to write back to me?
Surely a sailor or wanderer of sand
Somewhere will hear me and read from my pen?
Why don’t I wrap up my mind in a scrawl
Curl up its oddities, its flights and its falls,
And cast myself into the sea?
Will anyone dare to find me?
Or will I sink away into the deep?
Whoa, what bitterness is this
Whose twisted thoughts have I trekked in?
Surely this darkness isn’t mine,
This want for aching, wasted time
Someday I’ll be solid, healed
Someday the nightmares won’t be there to steal
If the nights are silent, the days reveal
Endless screaming from the ones repealed
Some time night and day alike
Will toss their haunting-juggling storms
And all the worry and fear I despise
Can. I drift. Away. Someplace
Calling friends new and old
Can I float down every stairwell
Ever built, destroyed, or wrought to sell
Can I curl up inside my wretchedness
Among the thoughts that call me
Can I give in to the pounding rain
That floods my brain and calls my name
Can I let it drown me again?
Who will stop me if I let them in?
I no longer crave the Roma-life
I want an end to my internal strife
I don’t want new colors, or feelings, or fear
I want something solid and safe, and real
I’m tired of thrills, of feeling these highs
The lows with which they are tangled are not worth the skies
I’m sick of the endless shrieking in my mind
I don’t want to be homeless, I want someone to
stop letting me wander. Give me a home. I’m tired of sorrow, the tragic-alone
Please someone convince me I’m sane
The world grows in volume
if I …….. this path I’ll be …. anyway
I’ve left the feeling-place
I’m floating, or
I can’t tell the difference between
oxygen and mud
i don’t even know what to ask for, i’m
sorry, i don’t want anything
Who doesn’t, won’t, and wants to be
Could I, would we, sweet disease
Want a new dollar, a shiny time-piece?
Me and my people can never be free.
As I sit still and the dripping-day starts
I cannot see past the daylight’s bright heart.
Am I a fool, or just on my own?
?Will you come to free me or leave me in stone?