Crowning The Self dan repost
momentous ideation
Some moments a thought comes -
It’s so much easier just to give up.
So comfy a feeling to visualize
nothing but blank-nothing –
Not to be. Not to think
or feel or breathe. No pressure
to present a concocted identity
one can’t even see that’s not at all me.
No stress keeping abreast of every snippet
of someone else’s reality. No figuring
or wondering or worrying or plans.
Nothing to hope for or hate
or to signify or demand.
No side-eyes screaming how weird.
No stink-eyes looking to strike.
No evil intensions peering behind
some ignoramus’s unbelievable disguise.
No more fake smiles
and rhetorical how are you’s.
No more seeing wrong numbers
and choosing them too. Absent
anxiety and anger and acrid, stone-cold fear.
Absent color. Absent pattern.
Without texture or taste. No feeling
a thing like the aching of pain.
Some moments a thought comes.
Just end this silly race sooner.
Why stick around any longer
to see the same old, unpolished,
frayed and slightly greyed images
on a disappearing, silky screen,
when there is glorious and
unending nothing awaiting
this little, tiny insignificant me.
Some moments a thought comes -
It’s so much easier just to give up.
So comfy a feeling to visualize
nothing but blank-nothing –
Not to be. Not to think
or feel or breathe. No pressure
to present a concocted identity
one can’t even see that’s not at all me.
No stress keeping abreast of every snippet
of someone else’s reality. No figuring
or wondering or worrying or plans.
Nothing to hope for or hate
or to signify or demand.
No side-eyes screaming how weird.
No stink-eyes looking to strike.
No evil intensions peering behind
some ignoramus’s unbelievable disguise.
No more fake smiles
and rhetorical how are you’s.
No more seeing wrong numbers
and choosing them too. Absent
anxiety and anger and acrid, stone-cold fear.
Absent color. Absent pattern.
Without texture or taste. No feeling
a thing like the aching of pain.
Some moments a thought comes.
Just end this silly race sooner.
Why stick around any longer
to see the same old, unpolished,
frayed and slightly greyed images
on a disappearing, silky screen,
when there is glorious and
unending nothing awaiting
this little, tiny insignificant me.