Like an intricate pattern
of webs
you and i
are bound together
through fibers thin but
strong
which is what i am
or thought i was
able to break the bind
but i am
not strong enough
for the ties
though invisible
are woven
carefully
as you and i are
unaware of something
caught in our web
that cannot
break free
so it tears
and rips the pattern
so intricately woven
between You and I
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Silence
Slip into the silence
I seek sleep and quiet
The end of the noise; pounding head, screaming mind
I want to lie with the sleeping dogs
The arch of a cloud, electric cold air
Smell the fresh nothingness, eternal clear blue
There is peace in poverty
Born and leave with nothing, nothing
Something creates cacophony – something, something
Death is but a moment from birth to birth
No gift after life, life is the gift
No silence to slip into
I slip inside myself
Noise within, noise without
Silence is a thunder
---------------
Selfish to escape
my reflection Swallowed
by shards of shattered glass
---------------
It falls on me
hitting like a Tear
been welled up for generations
the barrier
broken
my windows dashed to a thousand specks
no flesh to hold It up
no buckets to catch the
spill
lines drawn in rips
form the gutters for the flow
draining my ocean
It has given me my outlet
to pressure my release
cutting
deep
into my flesh
flawing my winded desert
bringing Life where there was uninterrupted still
---------------
formed by an artist
critical eyes wiped away flaws
created to please the ascetic
art’s function is it’s beauty
in that I am perfect
look close
look deep
you will not find a scratch
on my surface
porcelain mask
my skin is fair
pleasing to the eye
his eye
my creator
art’s function is not to teach
it is not to have an opinion
it is not to make one think
it is not practical
art has no life outside it’s creator
it exists only in his world
for his pleasure
why then
is this porcelain shell so heavy?
why do I want to crack the surface?
why do I want to expose the flaws
so carefully smoothed over
so carefully hidden
by the thick layers of perfection?
did he create me
or was I created before?
did this piece of art
exist before his molding?
I was shaped to please
not myself but him
what a piece of work am I
but no more to lie
lying dormant
is impractical
as is this mask
my art is practical
my art is flawed
stretching
I learn to bust
thick layers
of years
thick layers
of lies
thick layers
of hidden meaning
ascetic
yes
but now I emerge
to teach
to opinionate
to think
to be practical
to be art
to Be.
---------------
Words
I know not where they stab
but deep inside they sink
somehow I feel cut in pieces
sliced open with vulnerability
Bloodlessly Bleeding
Broken
There must be something inside
I felt a shiver run through
more than just my skin
Your breathless words
don’t penetrate my flesh
but something else
Shaking with weakness
for loss of blood or breath
you stab again
penetrating to patch my Soul
reassuring
yes
something alive inside
I felt a shiver run through
more that just my skin
---------------