I Want to Laugh/I Want to Cry

Standard

Despite having

both sides of the same coin

you can’t make heads or tails

of the ambivalence.

The opposing sensations

never cancel

each other out,

to become indifference.

Instead, both emotions

carry-on and veer-off,

like you’re being

drawn-and-quartered.

Your inner monologue

is a screaming match

between two diametrically

opposed parties

who are not making any headway.

How does one make sense

of the things at their very core

not adding up?

Hell isn’t all fire

and brimstone.

Hell

is getting everything

you’ve ever wanted in life —

and it still sucks.


ERROR 404: NOT FOUND

Standard

Please erase me.

Take me across the bridge

to nowhere,

and watch me fade away,

erase me.

Nowhere, I’d rather be

lost in the fog,

cloaked in grey,

wandering down the winding-path

into obscurity,

please erase me.

It’s not enough to be

far away.

It’s not enough to be

covered up.

It’s not enough to be

crossed out.

Please, please

erase me.

One-Sided

Standard

If you’re lucky,

You will see the writing on the wall–

Whether you’re enthralled,

Or feel the scald,

Of the stream of consciousness,

Depends on the context.

But the assymetrical,

Solipsistic nature of feeling,

Will leave you reeling all the same,

If the answer isn’t what you’d hoped.

Whether the graffiti,

Is a firm “no I don’t,”

Or “I wish I could,”

Or the dreaded “once I did.”

That disparity,

Will sting, 

Believe me,

But with time comes clarity,

Do not despair.

To forgo the truth,

To let sleeping dogs lie,

Is to be forever ensnared,

In your most cherished,

Nightmare.

Fault Lines 

Standard

Sudden unbelievable stress,

Has proven too much,

For two-halves,

Of a whole.

“I-I thought I had it,”

The subsided end stammered,

Visibly panicking.

“Look at this mess you’ve made,”

Said the hanging wall,

Haranguing,

His peer.

There was much tension,

So aftershocks,

Seemed likely.

“That’s easy for you to say,”

Said the footwall,

“You’re in no position to judge,”

Feeling their grip,

Slightly budge.

“This is aggravating,”

Said the risen end,

“This is strenuous,”

Their continued harmony,

Seemed tenuous.

They continued,

To point fingers,

As one side fled,

To bury it’s head,

And the other,

Bottled it up,

For a future,

Outburst.

Maybe You Were Right

Standard

Doubt seeps in

through the tiniest crack,

and contaminates everything.

It shrivels up,

whatever it’s touched-

leaving behind stains,

and an awful smell.

What can rejuvenate

what it has poisoned?

Only trust does that.

Swallow your pride,

say begrudgingly,

“maybe you were right,”

I guess.

But be preemptive,

plug the holes first,

so it can’t percolate.