I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would die…
Pre-death pre-burial requiems…
Lethal notes… Morose words and non-words…
I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would live forever –
Forever in the dungeons of my benevolence.
And then, I wanna cry my soul out as if I’ve lost God…
But first, wish that I still have a soul for I no longer know…
I wanna run in circles within an untamed wilderness
to feel that I am not lost, in circles, running and wanting untamed…
after my tears have equalled the waves of all the world’s seas
including her… her tsunamis of centuries…
I want to find myself at the edge of a snow-capped mountain and never rest
then scream my frozen lungs out after expelling my guts,
scream until I hear only the sound of my recovered voice –
the one that could read and write sadder than almost the saddest poem…
Distorted and soul-starved,…
What did I say?
Straving for my soul,
I don’t ache to feel a little less alive…
Nor do I merely ache…
My madness does not represent a longing for joy.
Madness sways beyond the barbwires of longings.
Thus, not even a longing for death.
(You don’t need to die to be dead).
My loneliness is not soothed by company.
Loneliness is glory!
My burden blinds with the northern lights best in darnkess.
My passions severe the cosmos with their controlled nonexistence…
There is nothing more worse for me and ill
than the brooding mediocrity when I do not sing when I will.
“Almost the Saddest Poem” is a remake of The Saddest Poem. But herein, the context changes somehow but the end-point remains. How can not being able to sing (no matter how you sound or don’t sound as silence can be music) be so sad? P.S. The titles have nothing to do with the levels of sadness in each of them.
good intentions without understanding result to worse things.
it’s better to not understand things and simply respect feelings.
Ripples of thoughts
of wonders and sorrows
severe his mind gracefully
at the wrong time….
All in non-extremes
beg for attention
when the only Freedom starts with Detention…
– A Liberation they know nothing of.
Pink and Green
Images of woe
Images of Joy
-THE DEATH WAS REAL!
It was a nightmare that came before sleep
It was a dream that happened because he awakened…
But now he must awaken again….
There is a pool of woe in the Southeast,
and fish in the cold air up North to the West…
He knows no other waters but woe.
Time stops in this climax of suffering.
The LIFE was real…
he gets swallowed up in a time machine…
and knows just about too many things…
he only thought of time…
He cries to sleep,
wakes up the same,
blood flowing through his veins
and outside of them.
Splashes of blood
on this mundane floor
drown him gently
in sweet Sunday gloom.
Wake up in breathless mourning glory
Cheat and blame the skies
Turn your back on the stunning light before you
Drift off and die.
The devil shows you a tease
So you go on and pry
Pretending it won’t hurt more to stain more
So you build up the gallows of your head with lies
Take the gray off the ashes
And let them burn again-
This is your foul way of love
Will anyone get it right?
(Image inspired by the song “Wild Child” by Lonesome Minstrel.)
Where you so alienated with too much familiarity?
It’s too easy to choose to stay away and be safe,
Kill the flame
Live the dream you have mastered
Where you so merely overwhelmed with too much serendipity?
It’s the hardest to decide not to spare a chance,
Burst the flame
Emblazon in the perfect hell where you’ve made yourself at home…
Where you so right with all you knew?
It’s too impossible to go on happily and feel clean,
Water the fire
Perfect the self-righteous freedom entrapment
There’s nothing more to me
Than this masochistic mystery
That begs to not end your story
Of just who are we?