The terror of the times

ordinary objects and occurrences are absurdly obfuscative TW: dark thoughts

A sailor's song
You've scraped life together
Never mind the weather
It still shows through somehow
storms threaten a compromised bow

at least no one can find you now.

The sea's not the safest
E'en in the eye of the tempest:
tie the ropes, sails, and halyards down
Or the crew and you will surely drown

All the lines you'd inspected
are now misdirected
While the fierce, raging wind blows around
And more than your mind is unwound

will your body ever be found?

the storm brings to light
What you, with all might,
Had fruitlessly tried to conceal
Maybe this is the worst you can feel

Though the rigging is sodden,
Not all things are forgotten
whispers of the true pacific lie ahead,
"Hiding in the ocean is for the dead,
take on a hint of hope instead."

Care traffic control
here's an idea-
a novel concept at last:
ruminate for hours
on minutae of the past
and when what has happened
loses all sense and merit
the sieve that once sifted
all true concepts starts to tear- it
might sound lunatical to the omnicient
but, unravel subsistence:
it's a fun way to live,
disconnected and deficient
It's not truly living
unless life's scrutinized and dissected:
look in the mirror
and stand there corrected
a being could never
resemble the seen
unless it's been painted
to look moulded, more clean
go over the program
and edit the errors
when it sounds too perfect,
craft a few forced terrors
to fear until the coming of night
when everything unerases
and the darkness swarms
with many broken faces

It's not that
"but did you have a plan?"
"of course not, who wants to die,"
I lie,
shaking my head with invisible tears in my eyes
only last Tuesday did I loosen
the noose and
throw the rope away
It would never have been too bad
why now is everyone mad?
nothing went beyond mere thought
because who hasn't practiced tying the knot?
So I'm not that, but what am I?
speaking to the sky, finding nothing inside
lying wide awake, waiting for an escape
because maybe now is never and up is down
maybe they'd stop if only they'd mop
all the blood from the crimson ground
It's just no hope, It's just a rope
like holding an empty gun
explain, explain away,
save the matches for another day
maybe, maybe tomorrow

so this is love
held closer by the wings
of an unfastened dream
than the arms of any lover

why become the words
that someone sings?
they only invoke torture

the most passionate kiss
brings disgust to mind
when love is backed by desire

the softest touch
rhymes with a siren's song
starting ships of men on fire

how could something
within another
cause all sense to flee?

unless I abide by
set standards of purpose
I won't let it happen to me

sleep, then, by far
outplays human love
it keeps all its promises

maybe if I
sleep all my life
love will not enter the premises

Quantum reality
Could you try to meet me
where infinity
loses its beginning and end?
Only we could be there,
freed from every care
using no gravity to fend.
A place that extends,
interdimensionally transcends
beyond time, space, and sound feeling.
If you'd find me there,
would you anywhere?
A love without a lifetime cosmicizes.
To be not in nor out,
within the profound
allows for an incomprehensible more.
Break reality
just you can see
beyond the known and trivial
into a quantum state
and then, we will finally relate.

For such a time as this
the occasional winding staircases
the ones where you must imagine falling,
or they'll steal you away
reminded me yesterday,
"It's time for your future,
you're already late
get yourself together
or read your own fate"
every time I pass these stairs
I know this, but have found
the thought a more interesting box
to inhabit, which just happens to
be buried beneath yellowing parcels
that scream my name,
asking me to open them
I'll get to it sometimthe boxes at the top,
with the crisp, shiny packaging
and the bright bows
naturally harbor dakness.
they told me this, I know it to be true
yet I unwrap them all, one by one
thoughts, as a gas
escape into the air of my mind,
poisoning the already impure
falling is no longer restricted
to the bounds of mere imagination
whispers grow louder than amplified voices
as sound waves, like vines
ensnare my limbs,
"You aren't even alive
so why do you try to be?
You can't even control your thoughts
how would you, in turn, your life?"
but they're wrong, because I was never in control