le vide du vide
the moment i meet you
i become a fountainhead
flowing with words,
i become a paper
clutching to every
avid observation,
every detail,
and every notion,
because
each one becomes
significant;
shining in the light of your
company.
your light is one
that blinds me
for days,
but at least
warms me up
in the cold
november mornings.
Light is the theme by which I write every single stream of thought.
My mind is a sun, I believe.
–
Everything revolves around the ideas that put me to bed
every night
I am under the illusion that I know what I know.
I sleep the doubtful self of mine away and hope it doesn’t haunt my dreams
with solid
question marks
and ideas
too large for my blue pills
to stomach through the entirety
of my existence.
–
Light is the theme by which I write, hoping to wipe away your features by something less pretty and more real.
My soul is a hollow but ornamented vase that withstands most
hurricanes.
–
I still believe my soul is sacred and eternal and there is something about that which
makes life all the more
bearable
but
they call me religious and conservative and superstitious
like all three of them
are synonymous
with everything that makes me unwantable.
But I still see reflections of God in my soul and so I hug myself,
abandoning their judgements,
and awaiting his.
–
Light is the theme by which I write. Your face is chiseled by it and your eyes glisten from within.
There is nothing beautiful about you,
but I am still fascinated by your perception of light.
–
I wake up just before dawn from some bad memory
stimulating a bad dream
like the rush of vomit through my throat
and incompletion
causing me to
swallow.
It is not pain, it is the taste of sour lemonade
that I’ve waited so long
expecting to be served by something
less malicious than the rusted
guts
on my insides.
–
Light is the theme by which I write. My God, my lover, my soul, my self, and me. The perfect pentagon of light from which I write. You are my theme.
Not piece-oriented
but rather
infinitely bound to
by all the reasons
that aren’t there to answer
the question of why we are
who we are.
What kind of art is not a sin?
What kind of art doesn’t make you cry a little on the inside? Or feel some sort of heaviness, some sharp pain that bluntly scathes across the fragile seams.
My dear,
my dream,
my muse,
be here tonight not before 12 but not too long after 4 in the morning, you illuminate the most perfect, with the optimal degree refracting your every idea when it’s too dark for it to be called night, yet dark enough to be closer to the light.
remember when I told you about black holes? Or was it you? When it happened, we were there together; one conversation. The collision of every fragment across the space between us. They tell us how the light has travelled such a long distance and has bended on the way when the space between us expanded, but I refuse to believe that distance can change the color of your eyes or make you emit any less energy than you possess in the natural frequency of your soul.
And light absorbed by a black hole, never returned; would never be capable of escaping. and that stroke within me a fear double-sided with fascination, but mostly fear. But then you said you believed that in older times, before something could ever kill light, the black holes were only black because light never travelled to them in the first place.
And in that moment, between light and hole, that very instant with which particles of you hit the surface of my mind, something is ignited, and my thoughts aren’t as black as they used to be.
Did they tell you about the little things
being moments away from sin,
you may commit
any and all.
Did they tell you about how they hid you in the dark,
oblivious to the existence
of photon
particles, you
stood amused
by the light.
Did they tell you about the moments of change
when you are stripped of past you,
and you tread upon the same
pavement
differently so.
Did they tell you about the wrong things in life
and how everyone made them seem
so right
in that
different
darkness.
Did they tell you about feelings,
how you should shrug them off,
how sick you would be
if ever to
manifest
or allow them
to conquer you beyond
reason.
Did they tell you about death,
the loss of the last breath of hope,
the realization of homicides,
the understanding of sin,
the creation of light,
and the becoming
of one’s self.
My quote.
Out of all mortifying times of my life, as I went into high school, I realized that the break-time was by far, the most tormenting 45 minutes of the day, and of my life. I lingered at the edges, squeezed myself between the people, and if my whole class was there, I still felt the loneliness vanquish my vulnerable soul. I was hollow. I believed that, my bones were empty, unlike others, I would not find bone marrow, just the space, the hollowness. And when I realized I needed to feel happy and not lonely, I realized that I needed to release my weaknesses, accept my self who has sinned, and open my scars, because “the wound is where the light enters,” All I needed was a sparkle.
He wasn’t there when I turned around. Nonetheless, I turned around, again.
He wasn’t there. When I waited for all those nights, and when I waited for a single thought. You weren’t there.
And when I tried to walk away, you didn’t hold me back.
You didn’t try. You weren’t there.
And when I stayed for a longer time, you didn’t smile.
You didn’t try. You weren’t there.
When I silenced my every word, and every single thought.
You fighted back, and you wanted me to start again.
And when I did.
You silenced me.
But then again, you weren’t there.
Illusions you created. And illusionist you became.
But I will not be a trick. I refuse to be tamed.
I fighted back, and bit harder.
With every tooth.
And then you hold it up again, and break it all in two.
I thought it all.
I sought it all.
But then again, you weren’t there.
Your shadow kept me wondering, where was all the light
And then you came again, and you embraced every darkness
What I will never understand is why I still smile,
When I look around, I still look around, to find it black.
You came back.
But you weren’t there.
beyond 