How it Feels

Like running headfirst into an apparition
Desperate to recreate an embrace that never existed
With a person known only through the secondhand memory of a rival
When losing the argument with your reflection in a pocket mirror
Becomes the setup for the kind of revelation
That sees you waking underneath the crushing onslaught
Of neverending tidal shifts that you've no choice but to swim against
For the amusement of the masses that can't even fake interest
At the tiny, struggling image of you, tucked away
in the corner of their mind's eye.

Wow.

Shit happens and you start to feel less and less like a person, just something hurling through the cosmos like a piece of debris.

The fact is, you can fly like this forever or eventually you smack into something or maybe burn up entering the atmosphere of another planet.

Welp.

Maybe the people that actually like me are enough to count on a single hand.

If that's the case I hope the ones that do not stop pretending otherwise.

And y'all think I'm just being a deliberate dickhead

Last night my oldest sister asked me if I liked reggae.

Slightly Unique

Never rushing to the stage to turn themselves inside out
Most keep their secrets
Hoarding their uniqueness
Priding themselves on things that separate

Ask the kid why he smokes
He'll spin yarns about his Father, the coolest cat he ever knew
He leans on the bar and orders a drink
Like how he saw some guy do it in a movie

Ask the kid his favorite color
He'll tell you of a girl, love unrequited
She'd never remember his name
Or spot him in a crowd

But she remembers, just like she remembers her Aunt
Would wear her hair a certain way
When she misses her most, she combs her hair the same
A faded memory her only model

Because the pictures, unbearable to look at
Are tucked away in a box along with the love letters
The old words always fresh
To eyes that never stop changing

People rush to the stage to find that they're other people
There are always other people on the stage
All clamoring with one voice
Saying the same thing to each other

Saying the things people have always said to each other
Seeking individual rewards
For the uniqueness that we all possess

Sirens

They know the type:
Eyes aglow, honey coated words flow
From lips intimate with many a neck's quiver
Promise givers and breakers
Shining like the sun,
Spotted from miles away

What Do You Call

That moment in life when you wake up and realize that you're Dmitri Karamazov?

Sentiment

It is a curious thing to deal with the emotional burden of a piece I haven't written but one that I know I must write, one that will challenge the essence of my being.

Yes friends, I have banged out many words while tears have streamed down my cheeks and I'm not embarrassed to admit that.

I'm a sentimental motherfucker after all all... but I'll elaborate at one of my other internet-hidey holes later.

You know where I be, right?