Limerence

 You still kill me softly, quietly...

Wounds without weapons or words...

Year after year with no end...

I have no defense from your sweetness...

Haunting, brilliant, graceful, fulfilling...

Moments and memories that still spark...

It brings, it stings, and then sorrow...

Knowing tomorrow isn't for me...

That this love is purposely set aside...

An old broken play thing...

Discarded at your leisure...

So the pleasure and the forever...

Was just a lie or a tease...

And is never mine...

Still I am pining...

Every wish, every prayer...

Cast from despair...

Meeting the same sad end...

Nothing...

Yet this heart still bleeds for you...

Needs for you...

Calls out and pleads for you...

And what can I do...

Nothing...

You own my thoughts...

Your stitching and bewitching...

Too hard to untangle...

Or maybe too hard to let go of...

I remember us...

I defended us...

Why did you not fight for us...

The bitter living

 What is the point of anything at all? 

You're proving nothing to no one for no purpose at all. All the reasons you think up are nothing but vanishing imagination. Forgettable forever. All that matters is actual matter. It's here as one thing one day and then gone and parts of other things else where the next day. We only tease ourselves that anything we do means anything. This is our great theme park of distractions. Welcome to life as a awkward sack of fleshy glop and bones. All your thoughts existing in an unknown emptiness that swallows them and they are gone in an instant to do nothing at all. Writing this means nothing, does nothing. Spark, spark, spark in my organic head space and gone without a trace.

Presence

 What do you think about during the day? What thoughts traffic your mind? Being present sometimes seems like the largest struggle in life.