Years Better Erased than Written

I have enough words to tell you I don’t have anything to say,

Not now and not ever again.

 

What’s the point?

What does it matter?

Does anyone actually value being literate,

Or is it merely a convenience?

 

Buried in megapixels,

Whored out for micro SDs,

If only you had a brain.

 

For the fact that change has occurred,

Life remains the same;

Yet because hardly anything is the same,

It’s only then we recognize there has been any change.

 

D          I         E


 

 

(in)Human(E)

Languages both native and foreign have long been an interest of mine,

Not just their origins and roots but also their misinterpretations.

Even when two people speak the same language,

Manners and semantics can cause a whole world of trouble.

Honesty guided by youth and emotion,

rather than by practicality and reason,

Can become something you wished was a lie.

Words are spoken and heard,

Carrying more meaning than we may ever know or intend;

As the ear transmits information to the mind of the beholder,

Relational entanglement can be cut to pieces or tightened unlike any other before

in a matter of seconds.

It may seem daft or unstable,

But it seems what we call “togetherness” is often nothing but a delusion.

What is the answer?

How shall we respond or react?

When and why did this start?

Do we actually want it to end?

 

?

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Together, We’re Alone

Singled out,

Among friends & yet pigeonholed.

It’s not that I mind or that it’s even difficult,

But the desire to be with someone isn’t easily stopped.

If anything,

I hate how much I desire to feel the loneliness I already know to be encompassing.

Feelings that aren’t shared are my speciality,

Life unrequited takes less effort than expected.

Every night of nothing has suddenly become a memorial to mundaneness.

Shaky hands & noodle like arms,

Legs that are trying to run & eyes that can look everywhere but straight ahead;

Words are something I’m officially not sure of how to use.

Rows of chairs are nice because distance is implied from the start,

But when a couch feels as long as football field;

Sometimes sitting seems like more torture than anything.

And I’ve realized after many meals alone,

These times have been chosen rather than fate;

For those we’ve lost in this mortal coil,

Are often the best of company for food or a drink.

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