Maladies of an insecure wordsmith. The crap I write.

These words that I write that I constantly seem to want to talk about and speak and which I eventually wind up yelling and shouting out loud are perhaps an attempt to draw attention…. No! For sure these are vain attempts to draw attention. But attention to what? something strange? something familiar? something painful or funny? something vaguely specific? something right or wrong, ...truth or lies? Its not all black and white you know. Its great greys and all the colors that vibgyor through this cosmic show. Nothings perfect... and thats the most perfect thing about everything. Everything else is just whispering by the graveyard.

Awake in a dream

""

Beyond this dream 

lies awake a mind.

And behind this theme

what does it find?

These nights and days

are but fluctuating waves.

And our lives are a myth

spun out of time and space.

Below our feet

and above our heads

are we floating in a void

between life and death?

Beyond our screams

at times it seems

Our lives are a tale

of imaginary dreams.

Cling to Be

Cling to the past

to go mad for eternity.

Run fast 

to sit on the top

of a lonely peak 

of insanity.

Don’t trouble 

your mind

just go blind…

if all you wish 

is to sink deep

in your

false sense 

of certainty....

🔃

But if you dream

to be truly free

be confident in this truth

that nothing is

what it seems to be.