Conviction

I have faith in nothing.
I’ve lost trust in everything.
Things I once believed were true
are now just possible answers
to impossible questions.

And I question everything.

My intuition tells me yes
but my brain wonders
well why not no?
And then I’m left
without any convictions
except maybe the certainty
that I will never be certain.

Now most people do not need to be certain.
They jump on whims
and attach faith to the outcome.
But when I jump
I’m silently questioning all along
if I’m really going to land on solid ground.
Most of the time I don’t.
But sometimes I do.
And this inconsistency
is what stripped me of faith in the first place.

Or maybe it’s because
logic and faith
are mutually exclusive.
And I will always err toward the former.

In any case
I am lost in a world without answers
with a mind that demands them,
a heart that ignores them,
and a soul that suffers the consequences.

05-April-2006

Why Today Was a Shitty Day

My bed’s not made.
My rent’s past-due.
And oh yeah—
I’m still in love with you.

Self. Defeated.

If I ignore it
it will just go away.
This is the fallacy I ascribe to
when I procrastinate.

Too much thinking.
Not enough doing.
So I avoid thinking.
But still do no doing.
On the surface
things look fine.
Underneath
a storm is brewing.
Waiting for lightning
but chasing sunshine.
A backwards back-burned wooing.

Doesn’t it seem
completely asinine
to avoid
what you’re pursuing?

Haunted Imagination

One day
I was just sitting there
going about my business
staring off into space
when a pair of ghosts materialized.

It was you and I
pressed up against the wall
your hands clutching my hips,
spirits consumed in
a passionate lovers’ kiss.

And then I blinked
and we were gone.

These lovers never did exist.

Selfish Beauty

Everything about you is beautiful.

Please—
just stop being beautiful.

I am but a selfish human soul
who cannot let you go
knowing that your beauty
can never be mine.

Fair Weather Memories

Every now and then
a memory of you
lofts itself
into my consciousness.

Like a soft and billowing cloud
passing by my window,
it gives me the unrestrainable urge
to jump out
and frolic in
the sugary puffs of cotton.

But it’s just my imagination.
A distortion of the truth
undeservingly in your favor.

Because the truth is
if I jump in
I will fall right through.

There is no cotton.
Only vapor.

And I cannot touch it
long enough
to even taste if it were sweet.

Death of a Dancer

Inspiration
stifled and suffocated.
Energy
sidetracked and sapped.
Originality
degraded and derailed.

Creativity killed.

Artist assassinated.

Wings cut off
mid-flight.
Inkwell dried
mid-sentence.
Music paused
mid-pirouette.

Today
they murdered my muse.

We

We are a generation of thrill-seekers.
Of broken promise-keepers.
Of flesh-colored water-proof Neosporin bandages.

We are ten steps ahead
but nine lives behind.

We are the deaf
signing to the blind.

Torn between
finding ourselves
and healing the world.
Our only solution is
to medicate both.

It’s not about survival.
It’s about out-shining your rival.
Coveting your neighbor
as if money was your savior
and still finding the time
to polish your shoes every Sunday.

We dread Monday
for all its
paper-pushing petty politics
but come Friday
we go cashing our paychecks
just to throw it all
back into the system
with a round of Happy Hour margaritas
while we complain about
the way our bosses treat us.

Not realizing that we
are our own bosses
who have sold ourselves to slavery
in the most unrighteous
but perfectly legal
sale of souls.

We are more lost than we know.

…

State of Consciousness

Dreaming of

fragmented dreams

where the premises

rip at the seams

leaving trenches of doubt

and no way out

from the splintered

sunlight’s gleam.

Reversed

The heartbroken
becomes
the heartbreaker
with one swift
flip of her hair.

We all play
both the roles.

None of us are spared.

At one point
or another
love will lead us
there—

Where it’s never quite
reciprocal
even if it’s
shared.