A display case for my most remarkable writings. Thoughtless, unscripted scrawlings. Words that flow through me and onto the page. It’s here I forge myself.
The blindfold goes on.
And now I can see, what I had lost that night.
Not seeing it, but recalling its scent.
I was fallen. Beautifully so.
I had tumbled into a stark reality.
Tasting life, in all its glory.
In the thick of it.
Why does a human being seek?
Is finding the losing of oneself?
She said sudden understanding is in the revelation of not understanding.
She said, from “her tomb”, that when she’s not writing, she’s dead.
It’s late
And I’m still seeking
The keys
Delicately disarming, a time bomb
Seeing that which needs to be seen
Before a wheel starts spinning
And whisks me away
Before the marbles start rolling
In every direction
Nothing’s as it seems
This I know
And I’m terrified
Of what’s left
Lurking below
The fog
A cold, lonely, October morning.
A dark, spacious, empty room.
A young man — desperate and destitute.
This one, finally alone,
is Overcome.
—
This is what you wanted, no?
Alone, stripped to nothing, and it’s all the same
But it’s never been more clear
That you keep running the other way
How could this be what you want?