blanket of sadness

i think the most frustrating thing about sadness is that it’s a blanket that

covers

and comforts

once you’ve been swaddled in it

for long enough

but it’s almost always

too small

a blanket

it still allows hope to filter through

the wide knit

sometimes your feet slip out from under

for sadness to cover you

you have to try to hunch your self over

combusting self-esteem

collapsing lungs

mind in fetus position

if one limb

or one feeling

stretches out

beyond the confines of the

warmth

of loneliness

the guise of comfort collapses

the struggle of inescapability

is not the state

but rather the impossibility of its existence

the embedded instinct-

tectonic plates shift

why wouldn’t your feelings

–

hearing the sound of a broken autumn leaf as your foot treads on

that is how satisfying it would be to crush that self-preserving instinct

all it takes is a deep breath before the slitting

i’ve been wanting to leave for so long

it matters very little why

and it matters a lot how

the wilhelm scream

there is no grand theme,

my skin feels unreal

and my life feels like a daydream i

could’ve easily conjured on a tuesday afternoon,

i sit myself down and look through my own eyes

staring back at me,

pretending

pretentious,

pretending,

that i am being perceived.

if i stare long enough

i could do that thing i did when i was nine

look long enough until you feel the haze

of dissociation

and panic as you realize

how conscious you really are

it’s nothing you can adequately describe,

when you’re as bad a writer as i am,

but it feels for a moment,

that you exist outside of your own mind,

the panic washes over you

when you realize how stuck you are

with this body, this name, and this life

little of what you have chosen, and

a future-load of what you will have to choose

i believe in a god

but this form of existence

is like the sound of tires screeching on a looped playlist,

there’s a nine-year old girl inside my head

and she’s been screaming for years

ever since she realized

she will still be me for a lifetime.

tossing and turning

awake later

than intended

and earlier

than desired

like you,

my thoughts push me

back and forth

until the dough

of my brain folds thin

and all that stems from the within

is flowing through the back of my neck

and down the arch of my back;

my mind is toying with your fiction

and my loins stir at the thought

of you,

flowing through me,

collapsing onto you

like waves pulled by the tide,

the breeze that circles my thighs

and the warm hands that grip me

towards reality;

i’m hooked to the idea

of one night

outside this realm,

can i sell you this piece of fiction,

would you buy my ride?

depression’s colony

i’ve been told it’s rude

to not be welcoming to guests

i was told i should pride myself

in being a host

so when you came along

i let you in

i didn’t hesitate when you

burrowed further in my home

nesting thoughts and ideas

far into the rooms

of my mind

when you slept over the first night

i was excited

almost anxious that i’ve hosted you

for this long

but soon enough

we were like lovers

staying in bed well into the afternoon

and never leaving each other’s sides;

you were like my shadow

following me around the house –

until you drove me out of it entirely

so fast we turned from coexistence

to zionist occupation

you first started by changing the carpets

and dimming the windows

but soon enough

you started changing doors

and then you changed the locks

and left me out

knocking deafeningly loud

that even the neighbors could see me standing

stranded;

homeless

05.08.2019 23:26

politics of the selves

i’m right here

where i once left and i’ve circled back

i don’t know what is happening inside my mind

i know it’s filling up with thoughts and feelings

but i’ve forgotten how to strain the thoughts apart from each other

and apart from my heart

i feel bundled up in a singular point

like the beginning of time

and space;

a singularity

that outside the realm of time,

encompasses the universe

and an infinite possibility of being

but within the realm of time,

trapped within the ticking clock,

i’m still tied up all together

i cannot yield the power of the stability of being one

to all the different selves within me

all the different feelings

and doubts

and conflicts

there’s simply no space safe enough

for all my selves to be

existential fabric of time

it took so long

but once i destaturated my life

all the voices started talking again

they whispered all the truths

in my ears

alongside the bustling noise of the city

i can hear the traffic

of all the parallel selves

their thought chains all came to a halt

in ludicrous synchrony

it can’t be that all this is real

that this really is me?

my past my future and my present combined

it’s all the same just stretched out by

time

i cannot bear this life of choices;

being alive is complicity enough

to any crime

getting by

one cup of coffee

to start the morning

my mind is fuzzy

with yesterday’s memories

did it all actually happen

and why is my head buzzing

with emotion

i walk it off

i can’t bear the sight of people

who have gone through similar

lives

and similar migraines throbbing

through their life veins

second cup of coffee

my head is clouded with the

thought of you

the thought of never again

or maybe one more time

my head is gone

i see the man sitting across from me

we lock eyes

what does this all mean

i try to get up and leave

and it’s all so ephemeral

it all passes through me

yet not at all

all those times i thought i felt empty

i was actually over flowing

empty is the feeling of your body

walking miles to get away from your self

and still finding your walk lacking

never lagging behind

your self is caught up

footsteps tangled and shadows interlaced

there is no where to go but here

and now

where

i am points

suspended mid air

i am but a mere collection

of vaguely constructed memories

there used to be a line connecting

this lump of human behavior

straining a pattern

from the lukewarm blob

of mediocre human experiences

but now all i am

is mix of too many patterns

and too many anomalies

a cluster of everything

reducing to nothing of significance

i am losing pieces of myself

faster than kilograms

in a depressive episode

the mirrors don’t know what to reflect

i forgot how to use these words

i don’t know

where the brokenness starts

and where i end

the cracks are stretched across

my skin;

they absorb everything

soul-deep

so your love

fills me up

but your pain

drowns me too

 

she lusts for my inner thoughts

she pulls me in

her supple breasts

bouncing as she crawls towards the headboard

she knows that as she leans forward

all i can gaze into

is the small cavity

of air that is trapped between her two breasts

each named after my deepest fears

she wants me to touch her

to remember how soft her skin feels when i trace it out

with my fingertip

but i know the moment i touch her

the hair on both our arms

will rise in unison

my heart will shiver

because her touch isn’t that of warmth

it’s of the cold epiphany

of recognizing

the sameness

the internal nature of her being

she wants pillow talk

under the starlight

she wants my soul in shreds

so she can reach through my lungs

and squeeze the air out of it

until i’m left panting

needing her help

but i know the night i spend with her

from midnight to sunrise

will mean a sleepless night

where i can’t even escape her in my dreams

i am her

and she is within me

she tries to tire me out so she can get a chance

to dance

over my half dead body

she wants the chance

to snatch the thoughts out of my mind

and feed them to my tongue

one letter at a time

she wants my soul to purge

but she is not the cure

she is the disease

or maybe i am,

am i her

or is she

me