Ever dread your next step, knowing that where ever you take it it'll just end up bringing you back to where you started?

These Are My Eyes

These are my eyes, little glass orbs. Look into them and see not your future, but my past. Look into the darkness, the hardship, the pain. Find the hurt through all that mist, that fog. Pass all the barriers and traps to honestly see the deception, the mistrust, the brokenness that's been felt.

Then look past those eyes and see the reflection of yourself. You, inside me, see your tousled hair that's never brushed, that worried frown on your face that seems to cry, and those own eyes. Find yourself through me, let my eyes show you your eyes.

Come closer, please, you'll have to. Don't be shy, for I shall be looking at myself in your eyes. I'll see my own perfect hair, my grimace that seems to shout silence, and my scars. Those scars, the ones not from any fight, but my own confrontations surfacing. Acne, facial hair, blackheads, all those ugly things coming out and yelling out how the mind is tired and ill. It's not pretty when I see myself, but is it pretty when you see yourself?

Is there beauty? Everyone has beauty, surely. Others see mine, I see yours, do you see any of it? It hides from you, but it spreads itself out for me. Sprawled over my eyes, it's a lense I see through that makes everything so... so vulnerable. It's infected my mind, nearly, nearly. Don't let it infect yours. I love you the way you are.

Death of a Pedestrian

None of us should have seen this. None of us except me.
I had invited them out to the porch early this Saturday morning. No. I had insisted.
S. was the first to react. He had jumped our street level balcony and rushed over. The moments passed and Lara tripped over the railing to help as well. My own heart had stopped, my lungs had stopped, but it seemed from the outside that I was not doing anything at all. People were screaming and our neighbour's dogs howled at the noised.
My watch told me it was now ten and a half, so I went inside for my brunch drink.
Some things just do not break my routine.
I only realised the sirens had gone when Lara had walked in the front door silently, and dropped off in her room. I just kept watching TV.
"Where the hell were you?" S. shouted at me. "Right here," was my brisk reply. His shirt was stained with blood, and he had an overwhelming stench of sterilizers.
"Did you not see what happened?" he demanded, "You let nothing concern you, you may seem just spiteful, but you are truly a selfish bastard as well!"
I knew what I could say, and what I wanted to say. I don't care, people die. People should die, I should die, he should die. Who did not truly believe this?
"Lara was there to help."
"Well she didn't."
Then he sat down, still covered in someone's blood, and stared out the window.
Until dinner, the silence between us was only broken once.
"She died, huh?"
"What?" He blinked blindly around.
"Oh. Yeah. She did."

Youth Alive!

The land of the noises seems to disappear in the wind. Flying over the shoulder of unabating hyenas, the clouds swirl in a pretentious manner that seems to say they're so much better than we are. Their fluid motions miles above our head denotes a passion of both fury and calmness that they have mastered. Their shapes drift through the sky, snaking through air currents and crows. Below, their shadows dance as elegantly as they do over fields and forests, cities and oceans. A fishing boat carries old weary passengers all tired of catching fish in nets. The scruffy beards and gray wool tuques long for the warmth of a candle light in their shoreside homes. A meal, a drink, and a dry wooden stool to put their feet up on is all they ask for. Underneath the waves that rock their gray and hardened eyes lay their imagination. Mermaids, cowboys, and treasure chests swim through seaweed and algae. Little air bubbles float up from the clams while oysters make pearls. Sand shifts once and they're all gone, only to be replaced by others one day. The missing souls float to the surface, past the forgetting, through the forgotten, and past the wisps of memories. Into space, where everything is light years from everywhere, instead of just one or two. Loneliness is for all, instead of just for one.

We were all young.

I think at this age, everyone feels a dramatic change in the way they think. Most will attribute this to "growing up."

I call it loss of sanity.

Does anyone else wish for the days when we actually cared that we did something wrong?

Now we've learned how to use reasoning to justify our actions.

I hear classical music when I'm alone.

I don't know what it's like to be awake,
sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall and blank
out of here and into the world of dreams and solitude
where everyone knows how it is to live and
I don't have to care about you
Phone me at noon to find I'm still in bed,
listen to the words that I never said
on my answering machine
the telephone's unhooked and the clocks have all stopped,
we all know this means nothing
to me because I'm still asleep
and I just don't know what it means to be awake
(Don't worry, I hear the music in my head)

What I Respect

What I respect.
I, however, did not understand him, "Why are we here again?"
"To destroy ourselves," I was told as he lit his own cigarette. "Life's too short to love and hate anyone. This isn't about books or building, it isn't about thinking at all. However, it's not about mayhem and disorder, either. This, this is about nothing. We are an anomaly, no one is meant to be like us, to expect a purpose. When we become nothing, we correct ourselves for a short time."
Absorb me oh massive thing.

---

Just a little excerpt from something I'm reading.

Too few.

The devil's dancers
float on air
in chaos that
brings them close
but never together.

Their eternal questions
query well
after their death
without answers
to satisfy any.

Absorbing the land
into blankness
bleaching blood
a fake blue
leaving less and more.

Rejoining the hearts
let's them slip
into a madness
welcomed by many,
embraced by too few.