KurtAurelius
Bluelighter
My time now is free,
To my choice and direction,
Bolstered by these precious boons,
Lovely company and not a single concern for any basic need, no hunt to take or shelter to seek.
Yet so have I spent it writhing in crafted pity,
Letting thoughts fester and spin,
Sickening the body so it can only panic and burn.
Whether I’ve realised or not, a tumultuous concept to be sure, I’ve spent this life running.
Something to do to forget the thoughts.
How many hours have I studied for this, and wrote before,
Analysing and rewiring to understand the insanity.
No basis to trust the incessant noise, the one that calls to harm the body and to push those around away.
With any memory of the heights reached, the “growth made” does not dissipate the burning pulses.
These pulses I’ve told myself to be mere senses of flesh, but really have I ignored.
How I’ve envied the monks who sit at peace as I pretended in bafflement, arrogantly speaking the body is a mere tool.
How now with a woman’s love and time free, from responsibility or chore, I twist and convulse in my perception of the prison I’m stuck in.
I understand naught, especially so me and then how lost am I from those I love.
Fear becomes reality once fed, and through love I try to meet fears test, to not hurt them, and so to not hurt me.
But rest is only the exhaustion of totality, the body calls for release and surrenders to death.
A winnowed view carrying forth until it’s distracted again,
And through attempting to rationalise experience do I miss the point again.
Being a tool still misses the mark, I won’t be human if I do, but still I cannot rest.
How much do you bare with a grimaced grin?
and then how much can I share?
Before I come back to this room, screaming and crying and observing the concern on their faces?
I wish to let go, but my impulse is to only run,
I wish to observe but I wisp far beyond reality in perceptions lens.
The words I write a temporary comfort.
A faith that this day has been understood, and I can provide testimony to the chaos and confusion within.
So soon from before writing I surrendered as being no more than a gasping fish on dry land.
Better yet to next time write a way to get me to focus on just this, to build myself firmly and not patch the holes over.
To not forget once sensation is pleasant, as it’s all to convenient to subscribe pain to character and to then lose it to a serving of mania.
With this proclamation, I tell myself that wherever I move forward, the only key is here.
Excuses are explanations so far as you allow them.
If you persist with only a token reflection,
to make way a surrender to sensation,
this will happen until that death rattle.
To my choice and direction,
Bolstered by these precious boons,
Lovely company and not a single concern for any basic need, no hunt to take or shelter to seek.
Yet so have I spent it writhing in crafted pity,
Letting thoughts fester and spin,
Sickening the body so it can only panic and burn.
Whether I’ve realised or not, a tumultuous concept to be sure, I’ve spent this life running.
Something to do to forget the thoughts.
How many hours have I studied for this, and wrote before,
Analysing and rewiring to understand the insanity.
No basis to trust the incessant noise, the one that calls to harm the body and to push those around away.
With any memory of the heights reached, the “growth made” does not dissipate the burning pulses.
These pulses I’ve told myself to be mere senses of flesh, but really have I ignored.
How I’ve envied the monks who sit at peace as I pretended in bafflement, arrogantly speaking the body is a mere tool.
How now with a woman’s love and time free, from responsibility or chore, I twist and convulse in my perception of the prison I’m stuck in.
I understand naught, especially so me and then how lost am I from those I love.
Fear becomes reality once fed, and through love I try to meet fears test, to not hurt them, and so to not hurt me.
But rest is only the exhaustion of totality, the body calls for release and surrenders to death.
A winnowed view carrying forth until it’s distracted again,
And through attempting to rationalise experience do I miss the point again.
Being a tool still misses the mark, I won’t be human if I do, but still I cannot rest.
How much do you bare with a grimaced grin?
and then how much can I share?
Before I come back to this room, screaming and crying and observing the concern on their faces?
I wish to let go, but my impulse is to only run,
I wish to observe but I wisp far beyond reality in perceptions lens.
The words I write a temporary comfort.
A faith that this day has been understood, and I can provide testimony to the chaos and confusion within.
So soon from before writing I surrendered as being no more than a gasping fish on dry land.
Better yet to next time write a way to get me to focus on just this, to build myself firmly and not patch the holes over.
To not forget once sensation is pleasant, as it’s all to convenient to subscribe pain to character and to then lose it to a serving of mania.
With this proclamation, I tell myself that wherever I move forward, the only key is here.
Excuses are explanations so far as you allow them.
If you persist with only a token reflection,
to make way a surrender to sensation,
this will happen until that death rattle.
