The Non Unique State of Things

So today is one of those days. You know the ones. That kind of day.
And I am sitting here procrastinating as usual, diverted temporarily from studying, and wondering to myself: Am I unique? I mean really, actually, truly? What makes me so, or what even ever led to me to think I was to begin with? I bet it was my parents. Probably.

See? Philosophy kind of day.
Seriously though. You are not unique. Think about it. What do you do that no one else can do or already does. For example, here I am, a medical student studying for final year surgery exam. The home stretch and all you know? But that's not unique. Okay okay, so I am also procrastinating, downloading all my favorite sci/fi television shows off the meganet, wondering wow is somebody else also doing this exact thing out there right now? Yeah, I bet they are. Not unique. So now I am being forced to think of everything I do that is mundane and what would be extraordinary?

And really what it?
Nothing.

Questions/ Comments? Go ahead and leave me a thought. Guess what? I bet whatever you write WILL be unique. Or just share your mundaness too. Please and Thank you.

Shine

Not knowing how he feels,
I dream he feels the same.
Not knowing what he sees,
I dream he sees me.
Not knowing what he thinks, what he breathes, what he speaks,
I pray he speaks my name.
Chants it over and over
But.
Let's just say he doesn't--
If his prayer is of some other being. His soul calls to another's.
Well, then surely all dreams must be the realities of parallel universes. Somewhere in the chaos of time and space we must exist as a single entity--
Results of a massive collision of two dying stars.
We must be the sun in each others worlds somewhere.
Me and him.
We must,
Shine.

Bittersweet

Something in me stretches and coils
A burning desire
A consuming fire
And if I am to never tire of these fumes
I must forge a path clean through the streets of my heart,
Through to a centre much more sound and sane,
To a mind much more free than the cage that is your love.
You smoulder, but trap.
You kindle, I crack.
We are such deficits of each other that any fire and all desires burn each street raw
Until I am at the core of you I am nowhere and then when I am there I am also lost.
We are such parodies of lovers that despite all that stretches and coils within me,
I am nothing but an embarrassment of you.
And yet if I were to die within a day,
I would do it scrubbing clean the ash strewn streets,
Our messed up dreams, so that when I am gone,
You are no longer just me.

My Love Has Died And Gone Away

Because my love has died and gone away, ashes to the wind, I grab at every speck of dust, keeping it safe in a crystal box of hope. But every day the sun rays burn through that crystal as if it were wax and my collection comes loose to escape. It flies free to another land where I must chase it.

Because when I thought of digging the grave I realized I'd need flowers to aid me mask the horror of his pale face so I went in search of it. But sad to say even that decay could not please the angels.

Because my love was an unrepentant sinner I cannot even pray for the ground to receive him gently. The dirt is now wet with rain and I think I've stood too long crying in it. If only these tears were not so bloody they could have blended and I could have fooled the lonely souls eagerly watching me.

Because I am bad at lies and forgiving sinners and false hopes and catching wandering ash, my love is no place for me to get lost in. The words like a maze keep twisting and take me into exile, where I stand now and I'll stand here a while longer than necessary. Because so broken I am that my love has died, with pleasure, and gone away.

Stuck

Nobody listens to the screams of those buried underground. What happens to the voices lost beneath the sand? Or the sounds behind the roar of the world? Do they exist past that one desperate moment of relief? Do I dare break my silence? Or let others rule my life forever? Is it wrong to change what I need from what I thought I wanted? Maybe, since I've grown as a person so has my ability to think and decide. Why is it so hard for people to understand I CAN choose for myself, that I will not always be a child requiring guidance. If a flower was forever a seed it would never bloom into a colored beauty, and be trapped within it's shell, always. I crave so desperately the taste of untainted air within bubbled freedom. Now if i could just breathe in and spread out my wings wide. But afraid of falling, I never prepare for flight. I wish there was a ray of light guiding me, a hand that let me take it along for the ride instead of making me follow it. Can't these restrainers be my courage instead? When will I see hope? I wait.

Breathless Walk

A breathless walk,
Through a world of imbalanced extremes,
Through the echoes of silence inside the mind,
That is for now,
Lost to the noise, the buzz,
Sanity never restored.
If ever the world lived lies,
Now in this catch of truth,
On this breathless walk,
That dizzies and nauseates,
Past the signs, the dummies
And puppets with strings,
Dancing to the rhythm of obscurity,
Content in the Shield,
Of momentary display,
The bubble of certainty never achieved,
But with the skeleton,
Of smoke in the night,
All remembered like oxygen,
On this breathless walk of life.

The Night Beckons

Befriend the night for it beckons, all ye who shall listen to its darkness. For it whispers to your left and dances to your right, this darkness you crave. But turn to it, and it’s out of sight, vanishing in the corners of your eyes, this burnt shadow you chase. Like liquid it flows, like time it slows, slipping through the fingers of your mind. Chase crave listen, pray it does not return, this darkness waiting for your hand. In the instant before you understand and reach out to befriend, the burst will swallow your life. And then you are forever grounded in this night.