Euphoria

Lopsided,
An epidemic from one point of view,
Speaking of which reminds me of the city in the afternoon and this relentless struggle to find a boon in thought;
Caught in the catch of a history match,
Made up in the flicked flesh of sudden pangs a’praising all for nothing really,
I said, “I’m dead already, so why be steady in this face of leering adversity?”
It’s a crime of diversity birthed in the inbetweens of rabid pens awaiting sport,
With all of this and nothing more we’re most obliged to confide in self and save said thoughts for confession,
If not in pews than in quick succession of
Future’s felled to welled suppression;
What is the driven wise anyway?
At least nothing more,
At least nothing less than a relevant question
Gaining momentum in this eve of repression;
One replaced another and brother,
I wonder what cover you used for this nuclear winter -
Not so easily bemused?
We are a cigarette, lonely in our pack, giving much and getting nothin’ back;
At times I breathe all aversion to fact
In the living of which contradicts what I lack and
I love what I want;
A subtle changing of tact:
Condition, conditioned, addicted and smacked out of the soul born dead for contact;
When it all was enough, you wanted it back.
And just how do you crack the divine?
I’m a little worried about that…
For all of this is a kiss of missed maybes;
“Save me! Save me!”
Yeah. One day, baby.
Just keep trying for truth and perchance save self.
When this image for health drank deep of the well a narcissist cried,
“It’s a lie!
It’s a crime!
He uses no bucket!
He’s not justified!”
And all I can say is weigh your own wants on pages paid in pain;
Predict for me your perfect day and daydream depths as deep as I’ve seen;
It’s not so told and it’s not so fucking clean and now clearing up your never-seems;
What I was never told is what I’ve never been
And how does that bake in the wake of your awakening?
Took it all back in a drunken forsaking of fact,
My friend,
There is no end,
T’is all like apostrophes extinct and expendable
Strokes struck less than the short hand of time;
What is mine in a world this blind but everything?!
The promising! The promised! The promise and praying!
This perpetual predicament still swaying to popular, predictable, pavings of self is sunk in drunken woes;
I’ve been here before, I know what you know;
And I don’t care less ‘cause I can’t:
I’m a scant skip away from the chore you chant as a balm for your imperfection -
It’s a sound resurrection if zombies sate your zeal -
I find no appeal in your peeling flesh,
Forgiven and blessed as a life lived wrong and so wrongfully guessed as unholy incarnation;
You’re a willful subjugation of lies locked in starlight, sold outright to time told well and Hell in the spell of your unquelled pause of paces -
Held for days and dragged through wonder;
It’s beautiful here, you should see the thunder.
Crushed and encrusted,
Euphoria trusted to
Time torn asunder by
Pens of blunder;
It’s all that we can do to bear proof…
If truth is that which makes you giggle.
My personal wriggles want more than the words they weigh down;
In a frown I am human;
Yet stretched so thin I feel like the skin of the universe,
Waiting and watching and wanting a herse for that which does not die;
In here it’s warm, where are you tonight?
The cigarettes are cheap and I find no pain save for this honest life I keep -
It’s a fucking retreat
For all the romantics too pedantic to pretend the cafes contrary to chickens or hens and still
Holding onto the eggs of a future not worth the time -
It’s quite difficult to describe.
When all else fails turn back to the blind
For blood bleeds as true as a death read askew;
The fathoms of a fake fate will try to drive you away;
As far as my limited perception can interpret,
It really depends upon whether you’d prefer it.

Euphoria

PensivePenguin

Hamilton, Australia

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

This is a free-form thought floating in space – endless words debating their own existence. I don’t really know how to describe it, but I think it’s a good summation of the moment.

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