Ahead of me, a revolving door of black glass cycled chilled air against my skin. Behind me lay 50,000 chapters of personal biography, stamped like countless footprints in the mud of history.
its funny in the end, sometimes.
To be, where once you were not,
to like what you once did not.
Being someone you are not-
like, only before and now,
its funny how it doesn’t matter,
its funny how…
the setting is the same, but different-
She was pain, she was torture,
She gave me the gift of opposite energy-
it was given and taken at the same time,
the ritual was to draw my blood,
Bending the rules, my will stopped her pain and turned it into pleasure.
Just an old man running out of time with an ageless princess-
it was all beginning to make sense,
the pain felt good- it hurt but the pleasure was divine
She said, she wanted to hurt me more-
She said, she got pleasure from it-
from hurting me her pleasure was given , and I pleased her well
She told me
in the beginning it meant nothing and now the sacrifice was not my surrender,
my passion was painful but, sweet and the bitter feeling was having it stop
it made me feel alive
It was then after we knew each other that all this was introduced.
Today can’t even explain the later future, none makes a clear picture, except yesterday-
Introducing my self again doesn’t seem to help,
and it happens every time, it’s true-
but, to afford the truth is something more than apologies, mis-happenings and unoriginality
blinded by my production, by the mode of my system, the operation seems consistent-
sometimes it seems that the same thing is different
she told me from forever, from the longest part of time,
from a dimension in the forever-
it was so and then it was differently so
remember, keep remembering, in time nothing is reality-
the vacant thoughts of memory rang bells but different faces filled me for a short time,
it wasn’t until they understood that half empty was full that the two themes could smile upon one another.
control and sensibilities have nothing to do with deliveries and yet the water under the bridge must be chosen.
With birth comes future death,
thinking back it was today that need to be here yesterday and the day before, but vacant days have the chance to be filled later.
so now and then, perhaps the thoughts elude you escape your memories, and then again they feel fresh.
Spoiled with a rotten stench and a change of color it was then that definitions meant nothing.
your dreams will never come true
my dreams are better dreams than realities-
it was in the past that everything meant something
with the perfection of staying still
but when its not around it seems not so special
talking to myself in the first person
third was the name they used to call him
it made me happy to think
it means more to stop
when this all started
this is bound to end
the dolphins never told me what you said
each time their messages rang vacant
of your presence there was nothing
something stayed behind
it was me
it was change
we will meet, like so many other times-
it feels rather comforting now, every time our meetings come
but it was only what was inside me that made me feel half full-
now and again things don’t change, don’t get better and don’t get worse-
they used to call me breaking even Steven
does anyone feel perfect, my imperfections make me desire
nothing is in the future
so my letter goes out to no one, and everyone
the day after today, everything will be the same-thing.
we will meet, we will communicate and really it was
adorable how I yearned for it
-was nothing like today going to be better?
the day was never ending,
it wasn’t until last week that time had been de-constructed,
reality seemed to be in the flux but my constant was self evident,
giving up my perceptions was the makings of yesterday
tomorrow was filled with the what ifs and the what abouts
but reality dripped of the here and now
it wasn’t until now that
it all didn’t make sense.
the last letter outlined too much and so little.
few words would ever be communicated,
its become somewhat difficult to have better days,
Everyday it gets better, every day comes and it was the last thing you said that rang in my ears-
over and over but never quite different
it doesn’t matter-
when things started off
my intentions were complicated
now and then
there are always the implications of my actions
How are you doing today, sir?
Well- or maybe unwell.
So is there anything else you want to add?
Well…, I am here aren’t I? the in-it times don’t come with an example to draw from.
To be direct, it all ended a couple of weeks ago-
The black cloud, oh its a metaphor i know all to well and
if I could just know
what do you want to know?
-How do you know now when it all started? or ended?
I don’t that’s how it keeps me on my toes you know-
well it’s better that way
there’s only one we can know for sure,
of what we know
the flux paradise, a thin slice of reality and its imposition on the dreams of forever-
everything always changes and nothing is worth knowing unless its what I know
Yesterday came suddenly…
The plans hadn’t been made before everything was damaged goods
tomorrow is another full glass of water
Deconstruction of time took years and it wasn’t until my time had run out, that
everything made sense, if only the meantime had been the different times
this statement is false
all the time wasn’t spent in dimensional time and
In my dreams,
we played a game, and you asked me what rules to play by-
if we were alone, we could never have found something different,
It was all the other things
that made me want to be a little bit, different
and it was all those others that made me want to be me
and it now is,
things are never as they seem,
and there are given-s and takes
has weight like gravity and nothing like genocide
There came a day to say goodbye to Love-
It was on this coincidental day when we take a walk,
you can hold my hand but we choose to turn every once and awhile to look at each other.
we’re young and this sets the stage for every other time, we share something into the future.
it was drawn out, long winded and wordy, small words being thrown back and forth.
it feels like a story form, from foam, from forms of foam, it’s stormy remembering it was about- Love.
my eyes can’t keep themselves off your lips and they’re drowned in your eyes
why my being melts is a wonder to me
but existence is priceless
Should have known better
should have known, something
just what we think
the shape- ways
in the end it is
it’s Trying to change, and its all the same
right back at the start of the end
was it all wrong or was it all different
and the shapes are never the same
you can’t complete that which is not complete on its own
slipping between the moments
the keys can be heard and the doors are always better opened
let me close the doors
the person that opens the door-
that life is like glass transparent and fragile
it’s like… you know what i mean?
stop saying that- your repeating yourself
lets go back to the beginning, so…
it was all out and nothing matters- it was me, it was, her, now that i remember.
you know it all seems so far away and an age can be lived in one’s years.
Yeah that’s how it started, when direction was in flux, & the beach looks so much more beautiful when you don’t know what it means.
So this conversation has to happen- that’s what you think.
the most important thing is to just do , don’t over think don’t second guess,
do it how you want to do it, my way.
does it matter how to feel
how do you feel?
does anything change
do you want to hear what to say
where does what to say come from,
nothing can change the past-
to be in love and to feel love for someone,
we can’t be sold on love & security
there’s a couple of things to remember about, the then and the now-
purpose changes, and it’s hard sometimes to remember and within time there’s feelings
saying good bye was always hard when traveling, in the end though one always comes home-
sometimes home has no heart
goodbye time, goodbye-
letting go was easy when you had only to get rid of time, only to forget the past
it was all too easy and it means more just to waste times
the house was abandoned and she yelled at the top of her lungs.
cough up the blood and tell me what it taste like,
Acid in the mouth with a foul feeling in the stomach,
something was wrong, something was the matter-
My broken heart told me my last poem was based on a true story
it won’t help-
this changes nothing.