thoughts are twisted, searching for a god
in the starkest mirror. since scars tell a story,
a novel was scripted of the author’s intentions.
flaws & addictions hidden behind walls to shield
a frost-bitten heart from years of wallowing
an infliction that I caused.
the reflected image causes this memory lost.
It’s like I picture myself calm, then grab a camera,
damage the lenses, darken the pigment & blot
every pixel with pencils until it looks cryptic,
scarring your vision.
this is the terrorist battle fought between soul
& mind where I rebel against
who sent legion of demons into my head.
& still I wait for this hell to unravel,
as madness rages against my soul
every smile buries my face.
psychotic laughter turns chaotic
as if my own voice is tortured
even the world turns different,
coiled & contorted into a shape
I morph earth into with my own fingers.
dreamers like us are always considered
insane—left imprisoned in a system.
belittled & condensed
feeling tense facing intense ridicule waiting
for pretenses to change.
rumor has it that looking towards the future
is tragic. this can ruin the fabric of time itself.
& I’m aware
this heart on your sleeve is only there to disguise
any loss of pride you felt. no one cares
about emotions untouched.
all we know of the ocean is the blue
of its surface. only those who don’t fear drowning
look deeper. so how can we learn?
what’s the benefit of experience being a good teacher
when we choose ignorance?
war on a battlefield only worsens
when anger kills every thought that is anchored,
reveals a broken person—or a weapon built
of ego—a dagger is how we hold this burden—
why we turn our bodies into garden of Eden
to scold the serpent? An act of rebellion,
shows the purpose of why we exist.
& the ocean becomes an abyss
we hope submerges into us. we name things
to make them smaller, to see ourselves taller,
but gold is worthless when its compared
to the sun—
becomes foolish not to fear the bullet
when you carry the gun—
this is how I know a god is what I’m scared to become.