Miasman man

[Mungo man]

Miasmatic drops of blood fall,
coalesce, and streak away in rivulets.
Painting pictures of my past.
Depicted for blurred eyes to see,
oblivion revealed to me.

Watercolor doorways to the future
never open to the scene you long to see.
At least... Not for me.
Perhaps your tableau is encouraging,
full of neon colors and masterful strokes.
Perhaps your life is meaningless;
nothing more than it means to you.
I don't blame you;
I've been there too.

But light always shines through
cracks in our shells, we
can remember the good times
The bad.
All the things we could have had...
But also everything we've done to date,
how great it feels to begin
to Try
to understand yourself.
and to be okay with beauty in your world.
Perhaps there is beauty to be found
in the slums you envision your life.
There is always the inspiration to change
just beyond the belief you have in yourself.

Face down in a pool of shimmering, mercuric liquid,
opiated daydreams have paralyzed him.
Soon he'll wake up shivering.
oh well.
Just another day.

But the reprieve is short lived,
the feelings of despair, pain...
Too alive. The rules change.
When your lost in this miasmic sea
you wash the blood off of your face
and keep the small rules
so you can break the big ones.