The Traveller

It had been a while.

I opened the gate, last night.
Millions of worlds yet untold, waiting to be awakened.
Horrors, marvels, heroes and monsters reside inside
the brightest day and darkest night alike.

Unimaginable is a word not a limit.
The strong venture when the meek sleep.
Are you with me still? I'm out here inside.
Traveling traveling where spaceships cannot go
Only those pure of heart and brave of soul.

Pick up the shattered remains of the day,
forge them into wings, take flight.
The multiverse exists, right here, inside.
Won't you come with me, explore the night.
It's all at our fingertips see, let's bring it to life.

The greatest of treasures possibilities endless
descent into madness or trembles of pleasure
let's fashion a passage transpose our position
escape from this planet obsessed with possession
this message is ending I'm fresh out of words
Breathless.

I opened the gate last night.
A million worlds yet untold.
As my eyes slid shut, they woke.

Coming home

I missed you.

we were apart from each other
and that hurts you see
we are a part of each other
mover and movee no Hollywood
you treat me good never lie
always stay true through
one another we grow
two pieces one pace
part rigid some round
pushing boundaries now

working then resting
blood flow increasing
to the maximum
reaching the limits
of skin against muscle
the final tussle
frustration leaving
the body release
it is done

now we lay still
breathing heavy
empty yet fuller
endorphins flutter
totally at peace
suddenly hungry
and already thirsty
for next time we meet..



Which did you read?

Gone in ninety seconds.

It was the first night of spring.
The moon a scythe, all but ready to end winter's dominion over the lands.
The sky was clear and daybreak on a rapid approach.

He swaggered into the tavern, eyes burning. She found his gaze, met, and held it.
Polarity drew them in. During the four seconds needed to close the physical gap,
their pupils parlayed in silence. Everything and nothing was said and agreed upon.

"Hello", he spoke. "I am the sun". "And I the moon", she beamed back.
She offered in earnest a smile and her hand, both of which he eagerly accepted.
Drums oscillated, and reminded them of their earliest beginnings.

She spun around, waxed and waned her hips to the insistence of the rumbling.
His hands clutched at the tides, and together they flowed.
Her moist palm found his calloused grasp, and hid inside, happily.
She turned once more, caressed his cheek.
Her eyes told him stories yet to come.
He smiled, eyes still burning.

Suddenly, a neighboring moon whisked her away.
"I have to leave", she said.
"Don't forget", she urged him, "I am the moon".

It is always darkest, right before dawn.

Rant on life

Life is inescapable.

Remember how you grew up thinking "I'm going to be different"?
Couldn't have been more wrong. Blame youthful ignorance. All those big fucking hopes and dreams, that great pursuit of happiness. Perhaps the greatest lie ever told, a lie we tell ourselves to make it through another day. But as the years go by, the horrible truth starts seeping in through the cracks. You're not going to live forever, time doesn't wait for anyone and especially not you. You are a poorly made bag of skin, bones and liquids, with a very real expiry date. And when that day comes, all of the moments that make up your life will be lost in time, like tears in the rain.

You will fuck up that thing you didn't realize was priceless until it's already gone. And you'll carry more water to the ocean of tears. Time passes, you try and get your shit together again, or at least lie to yourself convincingly enough. You find yourself doing that dreadful and awkward thing called adult dating, cutting away at the little bits of heart you have left. The stereotypes are dead on, the cliches a reality so cruel that only a cliche could hope to describe it. The people are all the same, souls bleak and gray like the skies of your golden prison. Outside of having kids, men and women were never supposed to get along.

You will wake up one day, knife firmly planted in your back, rife with the fingerprints of those you trusted and possibly even helped come up. People you held down, people you thought had the very back that's now dripping with crimson. Forgive, but never forget. Until of course, you do. Probably on that same night you added another cliché to your collection. Drunk dialing and voicemail messages you can't remember, to people you have no business calling in the first place. But alas, the flesh is weak. Your own hypothalamus is cheating you with every single drop of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin.

But you stumble on, clutching on to the lie you call hope, desperately searching for something out there, something, anything that holds the promise of meaning. Clawing at the invisible walls inside of your own skull until your fingertips bleed. Looking for faces, but all you can see is the masquerade.

Image courtesy of an anonymous /r/depression user