Thirteenth Thought

I wonder about this seed
Can it grow into the tree I need
Full of oranges ripe and sweet
Whose viridian leaves each morning will greet
My calloused hands as their fruit I pick
Whose sensual juices on my fingers will stick
Trace the canyons and valleys engraved in my palms
Bring me minute made ecstasy 'till I scream out in pslams
Will it grow "Like a tree planted near running water"?
and "Yield fruit in due season"
Will it give me a reason
To till the the dark earth
Will it rob me of sorrow and fill me with mirth?
Will it spiderweb shadows across my tense back?
Give reprieve from sunburns it's hardy bark lacks?

Twelveth Thought

Reaching up I undo the latch on my forehead, and flip up the top of my skull. A chattering, crackling, slidy noise erupts from the space. I tip my head to the side, and dump the contents into a basin. The glow and pulse, shiver and writhe, dark and light, dead and living, all parts mixed. Like a radioactive whirligig, entangled in itself. I cautiously put my hand into the high strung chaos, feeling around, warm pleasant bits, soft and comfortable, others cold and sharp, none of them discernible by sight, only by feeling, and trial and error. Finding the largest bit of warmth and softness, I grasp it firmly and pull. The chattering erupts into a crescendo, like screaming factory gears, and motherly hums, soothing assurances and screeches of terror. The sharp bits catch on the soft, and it becomes difficult to extract the bit I am holding from the rest. I pry at the rusty barbs in the soft pink fluff, and wriggle them out, nicking myself, drawing blood.My concentration mounts and sweat forms on my brow, under my neck, in my armpits. My eyes slide in and out of focus as my contacts become dry, from going too long without blinking. Finally, I retrieve the warm ball of joy from the cosmos in the basin. Disinfecting my fingers, I put on some band-aids, and get ready to plunge my hands back into the fray.

Breathe Chris, just breathe

Eleventh Thought

It's so easy to write of sadness, it gushes forth from pen
Glues fingers to keyboard, relentlessly typing then
It soaks into the page, like blood into cloth
Flickers on screen like a fluttering moth

It's not so easy to write of happiness, it won't leave the tip of the pen
One can hardly sit still with the feeling until they leap up from the seat and
It gleams through the air and cannot be touched
It lives only in now, only fleetingly clutched

It's so easy to sing of happiness, it bursts forth like a bird
It spread good news to one and all, uplifts all who have heard
It leaves the body, yet fills the soul
It barrels forth, and leaves you whole

It's not so easy to sing of sadness, it catches fast in throat
You struggle hard to eject the shard that was so easily wrote
It tears your tonsils, gores your gums
Until you swallow it back to the pit it came from

Tenth Thought

I plead for hope
It's mine but it's not
I'm a shadow running towards the light trying not to be lost in the dark
I have hope if you let me
Hope for love and for life
Hope for success and meaning

Hope, a little something I hold onto in my chest, hold it tight,
until my knuckles turn white

Ninth Thought

For now, I am the spirit of darkness
None can touch me, I evade all conjecture
I am as smoke, undeniable but impossible to grasp
Choke on my spite

Eigth Thought

Mind screeches and grinds in a smattering a scattering of lost thoughts, so crazy yet so static
Moving a thousand miles an hour to nowhere, worrying about every last moment
pedantic
It's a bird burst in my mind, feathers out my ears and a screaming dying sound coming out of my eyes
It's last wishes, hopes and dreams tattooed to the inside of my skull
I reach in, pull it out
No you can't die no not yet, you had so much to live for so much and yet
You burst into being and out all at once within my head and now you're dead, blood pours out my eyes sticky and red
So many places you could have gone and sang your song to those who'd listen to the stories of kings and queens and chivalry and destiny
But apparently your destiny was to die an idea within my mind
paying no mind to the ones that lived there
peacefully until you sent gory shrapnel through their bodies
Reality or the possibilities therein embedding in bone and sinew
Lying dormant until you awake in spirit haunting victims burning their scars and scalding their souls
Carving their hearts out until bloody holes

Seventh Thought

I have come to understand, that we all change
(Writing that statement frightened me alot more than I thought it would)
We are all aware that we change, but it's something like a natural disaster
We know it exists but subconsciously refuse to acknowledge it could happen to us
Or people we know
It hurts us the most when people we love change
Even if it's for the better
Maybe we're scared that we won't be able to love this new person
So instead of trying to know them, we cast them away preemptively

I was thinking today maybe I should go to school in the city, and live there
In one way or another
I might change
In fact I think I would, for worse or for better?
Would I be colder and meaner? Or maybe just smarter and more independant?
Would you still love the new me?

I realize that you changing scares me because on some level I'm trying not change
My fear is that the new you and the old me won't be compatible
The clearest solution is the hardest
I must change too
And with luck, the two new people who arise from the husks of our old selves will love eachother too
Maybe not like we love each other now, but in a different way, maybe even in a better way