But a useless thought much like all other useless thoughts
The way I see it, not much can be said about "the little things" other than they are things and they are little. While they seem to be held on a pedestal and wrung to their utmost capacity in an attempt to validate life and create a sense of joy, no one ever remembers to step back and remind us that "the big thing" probably takes the gold in the end.
After a lifetime of being asked to ignore "the big thing" by grasping for "the little things" as if they were bubbles of oxygen under a sea of sludge, I say screw it.
I can see "the big thing" now, and whilst "the little things" may very well be a box of chocolates that I allow to melt into the cracks between my teeth and tease my tastebuds in order to distract me from all the bitterness that abounds beyond a morsel, that "big thing" is a plethora of infinite cacao trees just waiting for me to bring some sugar and a low-burning flame.
Of course, too much chocolate is poisonous and quite wretched for both mind and body, so perhaps it is better in smaller doses after all.
And with this, I'll start again trying to justify the human existence, all the little quirks that come with it, the meaning of life, and the conundrum of living.
How I Wish It Will Happen
"My savior, my light, my-"
The monitor flat-lines and he stares at her. A tear slides down his cheek. Her hand he held in his hands has gone limp and cold. The bandages on her wrist are loose. They had to call him to calm her down. She had clawed at the bandages and wires.
He can't stop remembering the night before. He can still smell the blood and alcohol. He can picture how she looked. How pale she was, how red her white shirt was, what color her hair was, everything. He feels as though it's his fault this happened.
Her note says the exact opposite. Her note says:
Gav,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be happy. I'm sorry for the pain my death will cause. I'm sorry I failed you. My death is NOT your fault. I have died because I feel like I am living a lie. I love you so much. I'm sorry that I have brought this upon you.
Love,
Skye
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
We all will learn to suffer,
With violence anew.
Nightmares after nightmares,
Plaguing your sleep.
The peace the generations before tried to sow,
We might never reap.
Everything seems so dark,
But hold on tight.
Because I'm sure we all will get there,
disappearing together into the night.
Mask
I'm such a hypocrite when I tell people to talk out all their problems when I can't even do the same.
I feel like a liar whenever I tell them to smile or forget about it in order to feel better when I'm still dwelling in my problems.
I act like a different person, claiming its me when the real me is trapped inside.
I tell people that hurtful words don't break me when it really does...
Let's face it.
I'm not as strong as I think.
I'm not as brave as I believe.
Im not as fixed as most people think.
I'm certainly not as happy as I look.
All that's hidden.
The emotions.
The brokenness.
The depression.
The weakness....all that's hidden behind a mask.
A mask I've been wearing for years now.
I refuse to take it off.
Refuse to reveal the pain I've been hiding.
Refuses to release all those emotions I still have bottled up.
My purpose is to help others and save those who need to be saved.
As for me, it's too late to save me.
Everything that many people do only hurts me.
I could only imagine what people would think or do if they were to see behind this mask.
BULLSHIT
Humans are just a bunch of evolved apes trying to make shit work.
Society is only a handshake to not kill you in your sleep and take your stuff.
We never left the jungle, it just got a makeover and flimsy peace treaty.
Thankfully we're kicking ass and doing better than ever.
Keep in mind, YOU can change the world with just an idea.
Sell us on it and we'll follow you.
But you better take us somewhere fucking great.
Too Much
The thing is
Perhaps this is cliché
But a handy back-pocket thought
A heart that has been previously used for exploratory purposes
Does not seem to take kindly to what could be perceived as even the smallest of
Threats
With the recognition of this
Reality
And where the fault of reaction lies
It will have a tendency to fold into itself
Away
When it finds itself opening wider than its function generally allows
To avoid the possibility of misconstrued intentions
Nevertheless
The clenching of anxiety
And immeasurable concrete of the belly
Still exists
Within hibernation of expression
It only tries to remain in its fully necessary solitary world long enough
To regain its wit
And a little bit of reason
So that it halts the destruction it may cause itself and others
Along its own flippant and paranoid path
By wandering into corners it should remain clear of
Try to forgive this heart when it is
Unruly
Overzealous
Nonsensical
Accusatory
It has a stutter
A stitch
Probably a disability
One that cannot be defined by logical means
Or acceptable behavior
And in no way diagnosed
Nor prescribed
But it knows that
So give it the credit of self-awareness
If nothing else
Even if actions can sometimes
Go uncontrolled
It never fails
It will always say it is
Sorry
In the end
Even when its toes are the toes being stepped on
Fermata
For suffering gilded my faith's shifting
contours, I transposed violence across
the algorithm of piano keys.
In the murk past the stage, the audience
swelled, an insatiable ear I fed my
history trimmed of its disfigurements.
Decades past acclaim, I grasp finally
how hermitic this stage is; this music
no longer can debate the growing noise.
Now with finality’s last thrust of strength–
my tuxedo holding the confluence
of my body the way hands hold prayer–
I brick with each note the chamber where
memory’s stem is cut and flower pressed.