Somehow I’m straddling between the beyond and what’s expected of me.
What’s expected of myself and what I feel is truly imbued. Whatever the sense of that is, I’m questioning it.
This enormous struggle that feels prone to the world in which I have this stark declaration, that I know nothing of. Everything I have known before is simply dismissed and any self belonging I do not seek permission to be declared.
Dragged down into discourse and I miss you more.
Miss a life beyond me and beyond my comprehension because I found something factual that provided a base to which my memory belongs and I found it profound. Can my ideal belongings really not be there anymore? Or just around the corner? I sought for a life in which I can look forward but I only see gloom and rather seek the lonely bed covered in cardigans in which I know I sleepy truly alone. Alone. Alone? That’s what I wanted right?
If only to ramble into notes in which no one seeks of my profound iteration of therapy… this must be my reckoning?
The strategy of which the discord will find a way to organization and I will find success. Something so turbulent in array that I will no longer keep checks and I will escape the mundane and a world I know of which nothing and nothing is to be sold.
I’m in a chokehold of desperation for autonomy and yet I decline regularity and rather slumber.
Or some stark mediocrity that mimics the act… .
Only to wish to roll over in a life of which I have love I’ve known forever and there’s suddenly a freshly cleaned house and a white picket fence freshly painted outside a bay window I didn’t have to secure funding for. My only worry, maybe, to cook breakfast and see if you’ll judge me for having a cocktail with my coffee, or rather join me in the act.
Face to face with an era unlike me and undying need to face the mundane. Perhaps live it, to leave mine.
Experience a new unknown of which I could be a novice and you teach me the talent like a cognizant wizard of some sort. Even if my findings, we’d both be fools. Clarified deep truth of which I know no bounds.
You didn’t leave me behind.
I got lost along the way.
I found you in the unexpected and I wanted to be the main and instead you created a legacy lurking from the shadows and I just dived deeper.
Somehow I knew it’d be this way. I wasn’t meant for that…
somewhere under my nose, however – I smell shit.
I have a longing for some agency of truth and of which I know my brain is no use. Deprived of empathy and rotting in matured cynicism. No wonder I find myself alone even when I feel your touch.
I wonder where my rootings went all these times. I sowed my seeds but I don’t think I held the shovel as another watched the growth and I stared out at the sun, the light of my misconception.
Deep in the gaze of blinding, was a sense of comfort for my sorrows to erase time and watch my soul ease from the decrepit reality of which I still haven’t faced after all this time and admittedly don’t know how.
I crave a belonging.
Admiration has no use when I don’t know how to live up to it.
My scorn for mediocrity is personal, a self endowment because it seems to look soo- good on me. Stewing in my self loathing and longing for a sense of you because we are the same. You just did it better than me and got away with it.
I promised I would get back in touch before I walked away into the rabbit hole that dragged so deeply.
When I looked up, I found you lounging with the gods. Almost a bird of paradise. Me, garbage in the sewer drain. Forgotten, unnamed. How did we ever connect?
This burgeoning question.
Running through the streets of the city. Feral and un-chased because no one cared, and surely not us. Not about ourselves, but I found this caring in you. Eons later and you still cross my mind and I wonder why time would ever take this chance away from me.
I eat denial like a soup and sandwich for a discount half-off lunch. With bargaining for cream and self loathing for sugar in my cup of coffee. Then finish the yearning for how the story will end with the light of my cigarette. Feeling each sorrow deeply at each brisk inhale.
I should’ve quit those but they make me think of you, and you’ve been on my mind lately. You weren’t supposed to be the theme but here we are. It’s never about me, even when it’s supposed to be.
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