Buzzcut Season

I wish I wrote the way I thought;
Obsessively,
Incessantly,
With maddening hunger.
I'd write to the point of suffocation.
I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns,
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing.
And I'd write about you
a lot more
than I should.

— Benedict Smith

Innate Ramblings

Untame, these vast, swirling,
Oceans of mischief and wonder,
Lie dark, their waves curling,
Lapping at the prow as we sail yonder.

Wind battered sails, billowing, 
Canvases of cloth of fabric;
Pulling our vessel to the elements, bellowing,
And howling to the midnight storm, the thunderclap.

Crash, a flash, a dash,
Of light enchants us, to,
Look above!
An albatross, flying to our destination anew,

Its white glows,
Against the midnight cloud,
It flies across, to a place only it knows,
Its purity lies against a shroud:

Of billowing nature, swirling,
Skies of mischief and wonder,
Lie dark, their winds howling,
Lightning flashing, thunder crashing, waves thrashing.

-A

(via James of http://jharatac.tumblr.com/)

All That He Ever Was

He talks as if everything is fine
Questions my motives
as if I'm calling my bluff
Insults my character
as if I'm lesser than the entirety of this generation's worst
He talks as if everything is fine

He talks as if everything is fine
Degrades my goals
as if I'm incapable of achieving them
Tears my dreams
as if I'm better off living his reality
He talks as if everything is fine

He talks as if everything is fine
"I love you," in the end, he says
He talks as if everything is fine
He is everything.

Hereafter

Death sits in the chair across from me and watches.

Death sees, but has no eyes.

Death knows, but has no mind.

We often sit together in the night.

Death has one move left, I have none.

-A

Vicious Circles

Come to think of it
I'm not entirely sure
where I lost myself

Maybe it was in those eight hours of class time
lost in notes and due dates
equations and definitions

In beds of strangers
or old friends
who I no longer know the whereabouts of

Was it in love lost and forgotten?
Perhaps words and friendly exchanges
greetings and goodbyes

Did I lose myself somewhere
along those roads driven on late nights
to places with people whose faces I won't ever recall?

Did I leave myself behind in books or shows or at the cinema?
In lonely coffee shops?
Or crowded concert halls?

Or maybe it was in the ticking of clocks
and the counting of time
waiting for the better times that never came

Come to think of it
I'm not entirely sure I lost myself
I'm not entirely sure I ever had myself

Maybe all these places
are where I've found myself.

-A