#raw creation

No one thing means more than any other. 

Small pleasures, they sing of forgetfulness and hope

Soap in your veins. 

Who is the demon that dances in love.

At least now I can feel

You are alone

Bloodless fingers tucked into warmer folds.

Cannot swallow this beginning on repeat

These finite-damned days 

I feel the cord, bound on my wrist, Pulled at, tugged Drawn upwards, In a limp dance.

I laugh, teeth bared head thrown in a posture of joy, The mind disappears, I am rid of its blot, and I burst into, kickstart the memory of a feeling that used to be real.

I'm acting. Pretending, To your self and mine. Have to medicate to hallucinate your world, to forget This, empty, meaningless mine.

I see,

Said the blind man

As he poured a cup of tea

Never spilling a drop,

I see

I share myself because it is art.

I am an emanation, a created being

The artwork of anotherS mind.

Come, look at me, rejoice in life.

Behold pain, and joy, love and loss,

a spectrum of colour that grows in every moment hat the heart beats, the mind sleeps, that death creeps.

A universe possessed of a beauty it cannot hold.

It spills, and pours in words and shapes,

in sounds and silence.

The echo, of lingering violence