Prevalent

We plunge into an overwhelming sea;
Lungs filling up in pain filled gasping pleas;
Listlessly sinking in unforeseeable sequences;
Choleric monsoon’s exonerated in these artifices.
Numbing depths of aggrieving soul fragments of
Lambent nights consumed by certainties in
The visually perceived.

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Posts That Told

She lingers in unwritten reveries,
In melancholic keys of nostalgia,
Stored in glassy skies
Of tapering biotic aromas
Of hidden wickery treats.

In defiance, she’d ignore
Guide posts on trialed
Threads of treading feats
And seditious nets
Of accidental passings
In regretful inquiries;
Inconspicuous dazes
Of suspended beams
Lost in transfigurations
Of undecipherable glows.

She could only remember
A single sign that read:
“They will always need.”

Where Truth Lies

After the light of euphoria fades
I am granted brief release
From tunnels of cyclonic despair,
Her sweet aria sounds rebound,
Her coded ethereal aura coax,
Or as a hoax it prevails.
Delighted to be given
Vision into her cosmic folds
Once again
Hope gyrates and engulfs,
Doubt roars its gongs
In streams that roll down plains.
Still, she stays seeded as conjecture.
Even with the slightest indications
Of god given blessings.
Still lost in this rabbit hole,
Unable to ascertain whether
This be dream
Or nonfiction.
As avoidance of pain pushes me away
From wanting to believe in
Happy ever after’s.

Unable to sense
Where truth lies,
I relinquish all acquittances
To father time.

Her Progeny

I’m determined to see this task to its end.
But there are instances
When the vortices of recollections
Pull the motions of production to halt.
This determination causes the aggrieved
To relive traumatic loss,
A subsequent outcome of cathartic release
Reflecting abreactive methodology.
The familiar crippling pain
Comes creeping back into me
As I am reminded by her progeny.
Is it worth understanding
Or is the pain something better left forgotten.

Such A Love Story

I blockade the borders
Where our time
Neither rescinds
Or progresses.
For if I turn back,
I’ll become lost
In the foreign lands
Of the Sahara;
Where waters run
Dry, sucking
Up the moisture
From my eyes.

It’s better to cast away
Occurrences as ubiquity
Than to deal with such
Unbearing pains
Of what never was
Or abnormality.
It’s better to accept
This tolerable fate;
That I just lost
Base with reality
Again,
Than to entertain
Each impossibility,
Because
Such
Fairytale
Stories
Have only ever existed
In entertainment
In my atomically proportioned life,
Because such a love story
Couldn’t possibly happen,
Not to me,
Because
Hoping
I’m wrong
Doesn’t seem to do
Anything.
Because waiting
For a miracle to happen
Crushes me daily.

I keep wishing
On tiny stars
That he’d speak to me
Again.

But my fairy god mother
Is dead.