Vikare

Two two zero one

I can’t write.

Here I am, head brimming with ideas, concepts, motifs yet all I do is stumble upon these weary legs beneath me, 

All I do is bumble along as I paradoxically write this piece about not being able to write, 

As I paradoxically write about having too much yet not enough material to make a valid argument, 

Too much pose over prose as I attempt to fill the chasm of a silent year,

Fear from self-critique rather than populous response,

Liking what I say over meaning what I meant.

Was nothingness the initial muse I had for this piece? 

Was I inspired by the absence of anything? 

Did a vacuum construct this cacophony of contradictory lines?

This piece about failing to create a piece, 

My densest piece, 

The one spawned from naught, 

A response to the abyss.

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Vikare

It’s been a while…

I wrote to you I did,

But you probably won’t see the letter.

I don’t know why I did it, but I sat and the words came so freely,

Maybe it’s the same reason I pick up the pen now after so long,

To bottle the dark mélange that bubbles once more,

Or maybe to uncap said bottle and let the morosity seep free in a hope that it no longer corrupts the vessel?

Either way,

I wrote to you I did,

But you will not see that letter.

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Vikare

Untitled 

A cliché analogy, 

The only way to attempt a coherent representation of this,
My lingual limbo,
A bottle filled to the brim with null words, 
Something to say yet no way to say it,
The struggle and the stuttering of the cluttered mind,
No spigot to drain the ever growing pressure.
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Vikare

Zero hour

Smoke rises as flames lick the sole like a depraved podophile,

Empty words lost of all meaning, all relevance, fuel the self made pyre,

Burn, no Phoenix shall rise from the ashes of this piece.

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Vikare

Spiralling/A drunken piece I won’t remember/the drunkards shit

That’s all that it takes, 

It’s just Four or five, 
That’s when they all start,
The voices inside.
Conversing with oneself, 
That can’t be a good sign, 
But when the conversations so good,
Why shouldn’t I reside? 
No do it, you should, 
How can this action come of no good?
What are you thinking, don’t commit,
Just hide in your hood,
What the grey and pink paint splattered faux safety? 
What do you mean, it’s the only one that will openly embrace me,
Look can’t you see? In that reflection  you look such a tramp,
What the fuck are you saying, I’m the talk of the camp,
Why’s this conversation even happening, why is it progressing?
I don’t even know, it’s a coping mechanism, 
It keeps him from thinking
upon matters far more depressing.

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Compilation

(i)

All I saw was the moonlights caress,
Whilst your warmth was all that was needed,
Your Hand on my chest and mine on your breast,
Until into passion we finally conceded.
Two hearts entangle within this four wall confine,
the beast with two backs, spawned out of pleasure,
A beats all I hear and calls to the Devine,
As we find find our long sought after treasure.

(ii)

My closed eyes have never been more open as I await the LCD illumination,
Each dark second is an hour passed as I anticipate the continuation of this late night conversation.
Checking routinely for the animated ellipses in the corner,
I fear that for this abruptly terminated parle, I am it’s one sole mourner.

(iii)

How can it be so
That whilst the world percieves all,
You remain still blind.

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Block

I have hit the wall.
Once more my words fail to form,
All I know is you.

Drowning tenderly
The emerald seas entrap me,
All I see is you.

Reasoning has stopped,
The Cranial Choir sings,
All I hear is you.

Strings lay on the floor,
Driftwood, heaped in a bundle,
A bundle longing to dance once more,
At the hands of you.

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To Reside.

Limbo.
Between euphoria and woe,
Running the left field, head high but mitt firmly down,
The ambiguous plane between hades’ and Gehenna’s antonymous counterpart,
The state of unison and the silent separation that ensues,
Moments of sheer conviction then incomprehensible uncertainties.
Here.

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Vikare

The view from a train

It has been too long since I saw the sea,
Soon to be a distant stranger.
Too long since feeling its warming cold embrace and everlasting vitality,
It has been too long since I saw the sea.
Too long since being home in its watery guard,
Bastion primus, away from danger,
It has been too long since I saw the sea,
Now just a distant stranger.

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