Miss Beauty and the Daymare
i miss beauty.
he taught me that thebeauty&thehappiness&thegrace in my head were real, never to stop believing in them, mind made manifest
he was
i know that, and i betray myself, begging for surrender, i for. got.
need to be alone
want to be alone
oh, so lonesome
in death lies the unknown, yet life is no less unknown to me; the difference is that i know i will know nothing more in life. (whereas attainment of the -truth- may lie in death.)
yet if truth is eternal, and i am preserved in just that one way, even death then is transient. and so too, is my knowledge, because indeath&consequentknowing, truth becomes immortalised/ death, my means to knowledge, is overcome/ and truth. is. lost.
irony.
were souls meant to know?
someonesomething like unfathomably dark dense fathoms&fathoms of black butterflies, livingpulsing, lavish, plush, folding, streaking against the cold blue heavens like a stain, lost in that lonely world [dream]
incessantly pressing on me is the fear of being alone. the only thing tying me (albeit loosely) to so-called sanity is the preserved thought of him. that something so tremendously beautiful could not possibly be false, that love could not lie
to capture it in words, the transitory glimpses i perceive in my thoughts
to describe that madness
if i could write faster, my thoughts might remotely resemble what is on this page.
i notice presently, in the city, the night sky is orange- dusk glazes into dawn, it is as if we are trying to defy the gods: let there be streetlight.
he taught me that thebeauty&thehappiness&thegrace in my head were real, never to stop believing in them, mind made manifest
he was
i know that, and i betray myself, begging for surrender, i for. got.
need to be alone
want to be alone
oh, so lonesome
in death lies the unknown, yet life is no less unknown to me; the difference is that i know i will know nothing more in life. (whereas attainment of the -truth- may lie in death.)
yet if truth is eternal, and i am preserved in just that one way, even death then is transient. and so too, is my knowledge, because indeath&consequentknowing, truth becomes immortalised/ death, my means to knowledge, is overcome/ and truth. is. lost.
irony.
were souls meant to know?
someonesomething like unfathomably dark dense fathoms&fathoms of black butterflies, livingpulsing, lavish, plush, folding, streaking against the cold blue heavens like a stain, lost in that lonely world [dream]
incessantly pressing on me is the fear of being alone. the only thing tying me (albeit loosely) to so-called sanity is the preserved thought of him. that something so tremendously beautiful could not possibly be false, that love could not lie
to capture it in words, the transitory glimpses i perceive in my thoughts
to describe that madness
if i could write faster, my thoughts might remotely resemble what is on this page.
i notice presently, in the city, the night sky is orange- dusk glazes into dawn, it is as if we are trying to defy the gods: let there be streetlight.