this is what it means....

Familiar rush of pain.
Sweet as it pricks you…
Blood sugar crystals.

Rustic ancient smoke of the earth.
All the lies now wear masks of truth.
Uneverving silence.
The quite like a dead child.
Like an unborn child.

Familiar like the loneliness you share with yourself.
Like the peace only the aftermath can bring.
Silently you relish the state.
Amorphous thoughts.
Fleeting glimpses of your life sprawled out on the street.
Questions that you ask yourself and pretend not to know the answers.
Answers that you questioned seeking for more validation.
The EXIT signs that constantly tease you and tempt you.
What do you do?

Familiar like the smell of the earth in your mouth.
Before you were flesh.
After you were flesh.
You were the earth.
Like a monozygotic idea that branched into two.
Which one is you?
And if you’re not…
Do you really care?

Familiar like lover’s bodies.
Like the indent and curve of his ankle to his calf,
To the pit a joint creates.
Like the smells of lies that you’re willing to forgive.
Like the taste of another man in your mouth.

Familiar like the masks you wear to hide from yourself
Like the delectable lands that you run to and pretend to rule.
Like a willing slave want to be abused. Dignity does not exist for him.
Would you still want to teach him?
And share some of your dignity.
And then revel in the fact that you had dignity enough to spare?
Does that make you great?
Do you want greatness?

Familiar like an old song that you used to know.
Like a memory from a past life that doesn’t place here.
That doesn’t belong here.
Like a familiar voice of someone you knew within you in the deepest part of you.
But silenced now forever.
You refuse to give your voice to that lost person inside you.
Are you afraid of what she might say?
Are you really afraid of something that you can’t do anything about?

Familiar like the madness inside your mind.
Your skull the hallowed synagogue that harbors your insanely beautiful thoughts.
And your morbid humor that you selfishly laugh at by yourself.
You refuse to share your insanities.
Are you afraid that someone will make sense of it all?
Like the reassuring slap that reality gives you to tell you everything is fine? That slap that shatters your illusions.
Like a mirror cracked into a million different realities.
Like a million different “you”s that you have to choose from and face the consequence of those choices.
Wouldn’t you rather “God” choose for you?
To blame God is more glamorous than to blame oneself.


Familiar like the wounds in your mind.
Each pain a stinging symphony that you composed.
The quick shot of agony that jolts your tranquil body.
the reassurance that pain gives you to show that you’re alive.
Like the warmth that the bottled brown blood gives you.
Cascades down your throat to the pits of you where you bury your
Wounded soul.
Where you yourself crouch like a wounded animal.
It spreads its numbing warmth and you welcome it.
Both you and your body like the weight and warmth of it like the weight of your lover’s body that crushes you.

Familiar like secret feelings of dejection.
Like a secret friend who fills you with worthless poison.

Tells you of your value and rationalizes your worthlessness.
You question your friends authenticity, like a child questions its father.
Your friend silences you.
Questions are useless. They serve no purpose apart from making you seek answers that you don’t really need.
“So what” you ask, annoyed.
“I am absolute” your friend says…
And your friend is right.