dreamenial

a basement of unfulfilled, unrequited and unearthed dreams. off-date, ill fitting, and irrelevant. scraps of them, falling apart, covered in dust. plagued by cynicism, antiquated dreams that only shine through in retrospective lenses. they are so broke. so broken, sharp edged, cowardly little pieces that cannot regroup that cannot be formed to fit again anything substantial. a room of them. filled to the brim of those soiled dreams and desires that fell off our shoulders into the sewers of time, of life. they're rotten now, and even the animals cannot feed off of them. those come and go with bright dreams to rebuild and salvage what can be salvaged from them. an ad hoc dream machine that stitches together broken hopes and successful failures to create a penultimate dream. scrapped together, cut and paste from everything that ever once was anything significant, retouched, remastered and reinvigorated. make a life of it. rebuilding crushed dreams found in the gutters. they sit waiting to be revisited and reconnected with. poor souls, bits and pieces of lost souls of lost ambitions and desires. fragile they are. crumbling at the slightest of breath, into dust into particles that fill our lungs with every breath. the sad reality and brutal truth of things that have fallen, failed and lost vigour in the face of true circumstances. the dream of rebuilding the romantic ambition of saving all that was lost and reinstating some dignity to those lost in time in brutality and injustice.

Image Credit: scrapatorium.

of love

it was like i couldn't breath i couldn't swallow my breath and couldn't stop from feeling like my heart was jumping out of my chest. ridiculing my own inability to cope with the stress, the burden of the distance the utter loneliness and despair. so totally alone in this bubble of a body that swells and shrinks at my command. i command thee, shrink, shrink to a minute detail on the wall, don’t be seen. shrink shrink, fade out become absorbed by surroundings and get swallowed by my own breath. 

the lump in my throat is growing. it’s visible to the naked eye, the lump it beats with my heart and it is a strange sight indeed. the lump just sits there, growing, commanding and halting life in front of me, what power it has, it consumes the energy from the lump in my chest and it steals the shimmer in my eyes, it blurs my sight, my vision becomes dark, my heart falls between my feet and then again there i am standing with it all exposed. 

laugh at it, go ahead it’s not a matter anymore, what is the matter anymore. doesn't even matter anymore. just another. just another matter among matter, and then slowly fading, ageing and wrinkling, alone and shrewd, bitter and dried out humour, dried eyes and a parched mouth. sticking to myself. sticking itself to the roof of my mouth. my tongue is absent, it fails to move, it fails to speak. the thoughts float on by and are forever forgotten like the girl who sits in the corner wallowing in self-pity soon to be forgotten, never again to be heard from, there is no sorrow, it is in good fun, there is nothing to understand anyway. 

it’s in good fun. it’s ok because we’re all scum anyway right. whose scum do i allow near me, whose scum is bearable enough. who can bear my scum. when two scums come together they form more dirt than ever, filth, filthy lies of affection, of connection, of appreciation and of trust, oh of trust, what a dump. the trust we lost as soon as we were expelled from the womb and now we search everlasting like blind rats for trust, for hope, but we search in tunnels of scum, of sewage of treacherous alleyways, in drunken states hoping yes hoping to return to a state of trust, of comfort of forgiveness, like utter forgiveness for our own scummy ways. It’s not there it’s not here it’s not anywhere i tell you. jump from the roof and you will see that the trust is inside of your lump waiting to burst into a million molecules of flesh and blood. oh of blood. the trust is there, you cut me and i bleed, i trust in that. you scorn me and i shall bleed even more, you disregard me you mock my scum filled brain and i bleed, i bleed inside. and the bleeding clots in my heart and forms lumps in my throat and i cannot swallow, for i only swallow blood, and i choke, i choke on it and i spew blood all over this scummy place and we can roll around in each other’s scum, but i can’t trust that you would appreciate it, as your scum is just as ineffectual as mine. 

we’re caged, caged in our burdensome search for trust which i tell you again cannot be found, unless you plummet from the top of a building. the serenity of it is mind blowing. the fascination, the blood splattering everywhere the crunching and the moaning, oh how i could roll in this scum for a while and really trust in me i will enjoy it. fickle no? but i still cannot breath, i’ve been pretending to do so for a while now and i even believe my own damned lies and tell myself that yes it’s there the trust the air that i breathe it’s real and it does penetrate deep into my blood filled veins and pumps into my soiled heart and yes it feels, it feels when it’s not consumed by it’s own scumminess. goodness me where can we go with this anymore. we’ve been depriving one another for so long now and it’s about time to put your face in the scum you’ve created and eat what you can, spare the scraps for the birds and the strays to wallow in their own self-pity and scavenge for remains. they are scum too, i tell you. but they are wise and do not trust the others to open anything for them, for they have been here before they have seen for the most part the scummy nature of things. there is a very deep understanding, we shall not call it trust, of this. open up your mouth and taste the bloody mess of it all, it’s very satisfying to taste the scum and not lie anymore to yourself about the beauty of it or anything. ha. i laugh in your face now, and i choke too. but it’s ok, we’re all choking on something. be it matter or not it doesn’t matter. 

Image Credit: scrapatorium.