10-17-2018, 04:29 AM
Obscenities
Past two nights I dreamed of hell.
Right now I'm in limbo.
Everything is pleasant enough but
a feeling nags that I can't work away,
can't talk away, can't play away.
If before I did not know who I was,
now I do not know where I am.
Past two nights I dreamed of hell,
only hell is kind.
Hell is God's love set ablaze.
This place is cold.
I thought I liked the cold but
it is a lie like an open window
to a man stuck at the top floor
of a burning tower.
This is grief for a metaphor,
I think, dodging the question.
This is grief for a girl.
What else could it be?
It's all a matter of perspective.
The world was ending a year, a decade, a century ago.
Do you remember the names of your playmates when you were two?
The same thing goes when you pass twelve or twenty.
You can't work. You feel and act as if you've been traumatized by college.
Every professor seems to look at you with an evil eye. You can't finish.
How many years did you waste? What are you going to do with yourself now?
Your sister moves overseas in search of better prospects, and she has her degree.
A cartoon. A webcomic. An internet forum.
A grand aunt. An uncle. Another uncle.
You think you knew these artists
more than you knew your own family.
Where do you come from? There is noise, and there are words.
What are you? Where there is noise, I must be silent.
Where are you going? For chattering teeth can make only noise.
Past two nights I dreamed of hell.
Right now I'm in limbo.
Everything is pleasant enough but
a feeling nags that I can't work away,
can't talk away, can't play away.
If before I did not know who I was,
now I do not know where I am.
Past two nights I dreamed of hell,
only hell is kind.
Hell is God's love set ablaze.
This place is cold.
I thought I liked the cold but
it is a lie like an open window
to a man stuck at the top floor
of a burning tower.
This is grief for a metaphor,
I think, dodging the question.
This is grief for a girl.
What else could it be?
It's all a matter of perspective.
The world was ending a year, a decade, a century ago.
Do you remember the names of your playmates when you were two?
The same thing goes when you pass twelve or twenty.
You can't work. You feel and act as if you've been traumatized by college.
Every professor seems to look at you with an evil eye. You can't finish.
How many years did you waste? What are you going to do with yourself now?
Your sister moves overseas in search of better prospects, and she has her degree.
A cartoon. A webcomic. An internet forum.
A grand aunt. An uncle. Another uncle.
You think you knew these artists
more than you knew your own family.
Where do you come from? There is noise, and there are words.
What are you? Where there is noise, I must be silent.
Where are you going? For chattering teeth can make only noise.