Sunday, June 19, 2011

collective unconscious

the swell of a nickname and a shuffle of thought
i need to find a place for these words, all that is hidden
it’s funny how they think the novocain will stop the blood
we can’t argue with
the romanticism
of stupidity

wings of glass, a broken touch
years run past the window of a moving car
life summoned to its point of no return
no ecstasy is found here, but
there’s no such thing as here

keep going, nothing to lose
the writing on my arm faded from washing
the words that kept me going faded from time
the passing year i beg not to be more proof of my failure

i want to reach out
to be a thing other than
a creature to numb the effects of the world
to move from my shadow

i still can’t decide what all of this is for


1 comment:

  1. I guess there is really no right or wrong way to live our lives. We do what we do. I often wonder some of the same. I've decided that it would be a lot easier if I just settled in and enjoyed what I have (or at least have some of).
    Great writing Ven... Got me to thinking.