Bird in my Head

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I sit in a dark room thinking about darkness
I have a glass of blood in my hands
And a bird flies quietly in my head
I do not know why
I will sit here. For hours to come. And minutes and seconds
Thinking about darkness
All the light that I lost
And I cannot look around me
There is a bear which plays the flute
And I do not understand why
There is darkness around me
And I am the light.
And soon I’ll burn myself out
As I burnt my candle turning it into the wildfires
The ghosts play the piano
And I can not dance
But I do not know why
I can hear laughter and people talking
But it must be all in my head
Yet I do not know why

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It’s like the days are not even days any more.
Night isn’t night anymore.
I am not even who I was anymore.
The sky has turned into ash, it isn’t blue anymore
The moon is a black dot, it isn’t the moon anymore
The sea has turned into soot, it isn’t it anymore
The tree upon which I gazed outside
It is not standing there anymore…perhaps it travelled north or towards a dusty gloom
I don’t know anymore
There is so much dark now, I don’t want the light anymore
I loved someone once
I don’t love anymore

Hollow

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I was haunted by the hollow of my hand
What is in it. Why
I was disfigured by the death in my eyes
Who died. Why
I was shattered by the quivering of my soul
How did it happen. Why
I was looking at the curve of my lips
Which way did they go. Why
I sat with myself once
I danced with myself once
I dreamed within myself once
Who was I supposed to be. Why

Wisp

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Sometimes I walk among the living dead
And I die a thousand lives
And when I come back to life
I talk to them and I laugh with them
And I love them and I fall in love with them
And when I turn back to see
I see all these faces
Of people that I do not know
And I don’t know their stories
Yet they have told me everything
And I heard
But I do not know them
They are strangers
And then there is myself
The strangest of them all
For they have seen me
And never loved me
And never fallen in love
And I am a wisp they all love
I am a stranger whom I do not know about

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Never is always
Always, never
Sorrows are fading
Fading, never
Memories are overpowering
Overpowering, never
Love is begotten
Begotten, never
Fear is forgotten
Forgotten, never
Life is death
Death, never
Happiness is love
Love, never
Never is always
Always, never

Disperse Into Whispers

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Humans hold no sanctity over others like them. In each picture that goes undeveloped–humans hold sanctity over themselves. And to themselves they are God.
We- are people who have been brewing venom. And we-are people who have been brewed in the poison of others. The chalices that hold us. Bind us. Yet kill us. And so, we kill each other. With our poison.
Of this. There is no escape.
Humans. Atoms held together in a most unlikely and strange, magical way-want escape.
Held in captivity we try hard to find the key which is to us the elixir. No we don’t pretend. We just try. In this search we get lost in the vacuum. Ah. Good old vacuum. Always there. Always helping?
We huddle in a room. Together and apart from each. Trying to break free. We use words. They don’t help. So we linger. But till when?
We want escape.
To run free. To march in a band. To fly. To run. Be away. From each other. To go ten thousand miles beyond the green.
We never do. Instead we stay huddled. In the same room. And we use the same words. And nothing changes. The same tunes keep playing in the background. Carrying different meaning each time.
We never realize..and we never did–how weary we have become of these charades. We blame each other. Each of us are right.
Then we want to escape. And all in different directions. Never to recoil.
It will be the utter death of everything. A grand escape.

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The atoms thus held are all in movement. When movement happens..strange things happen. The cells are in catastrophe. The truth. Yes it is the delusion. One by one–each atom, each cell, each particle gets uncoiled-uncoil. It starts to break away. To move apart. The skin. The muscle. The tissue. Everything. Breaks free. Everything disperses into a cloud. It all disperses into whispers. There is so much noise. So many whispers. So many secrets. So many sounds.

The Grand Escape.

* * *

“I didn’t go to the moon, I went much further—for time is the longest distance between two places. ” The Glass Menagerie