polyptic

the unease

while i was tumbling in bed, the clock slowly struck 3:32 in the morning. the morose cascade of forgotten emotions were breaking into my thoughts were making it harder to fall asleep.

one more turn amongst the sheets, one more question, one more attempt to say goodbye to reason while i try to force myself into oblivion.

but i cant. and i think of all the time that i have wasted frivolously chasing other realities that were not mine, or

so i try to convince myself.

and as if enough is enough, i move the sheets and sit on the bed and exhale the conflict inside.

the floor feels cold while my hands fall to my knees as if nothing can be done.  - this is not normal -, the murmur slips between my teeth while my hands look for something to grab.

I sprang from the bed as if something unknown forces me to stand, and though it is dark I start to pace around the room, hoping to tire myself enough to go back to bed. i peek outside from the window and the silence outside cannot calm the waves eroding away my thoughts.

There would have been moments that i would bow and kneel to pray. but not today, today is about me not god, today is about the man not the deity.

the source

without being able to precise the origin, i think it allcomes back to that call. you know, that one.  where you made me laugh and reminisce about yester years. where we babble continuously about the everythings and nothings that compose the minutes and the days around us.

what i find confusing it that it is not the first time that this happens. and so that it leaves a bitter sweet taste in my  mouth. not that i feel it to be wrong but it’s the sorrow and the selfishness of not having whatever was anymore that consumes me.
maybe I have just been neglecting myself through all of these years, and whomever says neglect says lying, as the pure intents of my reflections reveal themselves.

- there’s just that- I exclamated from the top of my lungs as if some answers would slowly make me change the course of my mood. but they didn’t.

 the dagger

it’s the complicity I was looking after, while all of my other senses are just waiting to pounce into the fray at the first chance possible.  Those deviant impulses that make me a man, and that make me weak. the same ones that shrug helplessly when the reasons took over.
it’s the familiarity of the same songs, that soothes the ear and warms the heart, this unspoken bond between the bodies that reaches out.
it’s the return of selfish altruisms, the ones that speak louder than words, the ones that move the simplest of desires into the depths of the flesh.

it’s none other than the regrets of the unspoken truths and the sweet flagellations of sacrifice for a piece of tranquility and the ability to rest your eyes upon the beauty that you have created.

For those and none other, the blade seems to be twisted inside myself, severing as many arteries possible, like the rules of a good murder, so well dictate.

the bloodletting

 - injured animals are as ferocious as they can be when cornered - I said to myself, trying to convince all of my anger that there is a an opponent that can face it. but we both know this is nothing but a ruse to dissimulate the decisions that have be put in place.

So I drag myself across the room one more time, and one more time and one more time making sure that if something is repeated many times it becomes truth and is set in stone. somehow I keep making these projections and conjectures of what could have been and what could be, of what I once believed I knew and what I do not know nowadays. And it is just so hurtful not knowing where do your allegiances lie. - how can you decide though – and just like other times I open the catheter and hope that this small bloodletting cures my illness

 It is painful to let it all go to the hands of fate - I resentfully decide while the question comes up- so what now – I ask myself, only to hear myself saying – it all depends on the now you know