thunder ocean

I always remember that loyalty and dignity is valuable.  But is my life valuable too?  I think I used to think so but now I am not so sure.  I’m learning to live with this but I do not want to live with this.  But I’m learning.  There is something grey waiting for me in every room.  

There’s an old black-and-white photograph that always makes me cry.  I set out it in a spot where I can always see it.  But that’s still no reason.  Sometimes I just like to pack my bags.  

I never want to leave this place.  I don’t think I understand you anymore.  

It’s overdone, the misunderstood child.  This is not optional.  Everyone tells everyone else how they should feel.  

This is all a big illusion.  It will softly come apart around us.  Why do you always burst into tears and scream at your child; twisting their brains inside your gnarled angry hands?

 You are so beautiful sometimes and I wish we could see each other at a ball where everyone is wearing masks except the two of us.  All we have is our dreams and there is never a moment where we are not desperately clinging to one in order to survive.  But that ugly monster always comes out to greet us and I see it in you when I’m just starting to turn the other way and I see it in me all the time now.  And I think I am probably farther away than I have ever been before.  A little girl lost.  I don’t know what to do.  I can always feign.  My mind is full of scorpions.  

I’m never sure which of your names to capitalize but I am mostly certainly the farthest I have ever been even though I beg to please not let it be so.  These white statues don’t always seem real.  No, that’s not quite right.  That is not really what I want to say.  I think what I want is permission.  But I could ask everyone and they could all say the same thing – they could all respond in the resoundingly positive and it still would not be enough.  There are shards of glass in everything now.  Things are orange and then they are black.  I think I know what that means.  I must have learned it from someone much smarter than I.  

Whose permission do I need?  Would it really make everything feel all right?  This has all turned to erosion and everything is so old.  I’ve burned down an entire nation.  For some reason I feel compelled to record everything.  Recordings always feel more real than the actual moments.  I’m afraid I may be waking up quite bloody very soon.  I am found in a field somewhere and my attempt to turn everything into water was a complete failure.  It was always going to be a failure.  I am awful.  

I will say it in a secret way.  I will whisper it into no one’s ear but I know you will hear it anyway.  Are all those visions false?  Are we just lying to ourselves every time?  That is a very realistic possibility.  You’re lying to yourself right now, aren’t you?  I’m afraid right now, isn’t that true?  Are these manifestations born out of desire?  Is there any truth to selflessness and devotion?  I want to understand you.  I feel this love and then I ingest (in jest) poison but I don’t even have to do that anymore because I have learned so well how to destroy all the lovely things without anyone’s help.  I don’t even have to say I’m sorry anymore or ask forgiveness because I write it all down.  You were quite wrong: thoughts and desires eat you up.  

We are stuck without any surprises coming our way.  We are receiving exactly what we deserve.  You have been deserted and rightfully so.  I don’t know how to lead anymore.  Free choice is a disguise and what is underneath is so cunning.  

I am terrified to ask to see you.  That would not be right at all.  Why do you come out when all the lights are turned off?  What have I done recently?  It’s a moody verse and he is questioning far too much these days.  Two women are making love.  At some point they realize the triviality of their own bodies.  Is anger really a gift?  

He cannot speak to the leader(s) anymore.  All he can do now is take orders.  And smile. 

Would it be entirely wrong?  It must be, yes?  But is it possible?  Is it possible a mistake was made with the pronoun?  Is it possible a mistake was made a million times over?  Or is it possible that information was simply withheld?  Can he even dare to think something like that?  

She is sleeping alone and the fire inside her skull has been temporarily put out.  Anguish should not have been her gift.  The night always plays its dirty little tricks.  

I’m rich in nothing and safe in solitude.  I have laughed too often in moments that were fragile and now never to return.  I cannot ask permission.  I am learning to live with this.  

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.  She tells him that and laughs and the room is spinning and he remembers looking out at a river that only reminded him of another river and he knows he is just as lost and split down the center.  

“I Love you.”  

There is a future out there very much like this one and it is just waiting.  There is only sadness meant for you but I suspect you will savor this until it is much too late.  I don’t know what to hold onto anymore.  There are too many carvings.  Please forgive me.  I feel that request is sincere.  

She looks down on him and he feels so much comfort.  May he light a candle?  

I’m just a little girl who never leaves her room.  My eyes are always grey now.  

Written in minutes, it means nothing.