literature

Cerebral Respiration

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Literature Text

It’s been too long since I’ve written anything.
But when the ink and the pixels demand to be loosed from my veins
 I guess it’s time for some refrains
Words, lines, timed to some pulse
    (Like it’s a song, or something)

I don’t even know if this is poetry or prose
Just thoughts
 (Or unjust thoughts)
Exhalations
   From tired lungs to fingers on a keyboard
The exodus of my exegesis, exeunt stage left,
     Because my understanding has an end.

A shadow writes over me – and a light I can’t forego
All the weight of everything for which I can’t do anything
To make my shoulders lead,
But under me the undercurrent of something I think I read
   (A long, long time ago)

I only understand it, now.
 Well, maybe I understand it.

It’s like that moment
That moment when you’re older
    When you look around and say this isn’t what I pictured.

Like religion
I like religion
  Liked religion.
Following rules for me is easy so it doesn’t make sense when that’s not what it’s about.
 It.
“It” isn’t even a part of the equation that I’m trying to figure out.
So may I quote KJ when I say
    Religion’s why they’re killing
    innocent men, women, and children.
And how did it take me so long to figure out that the Pharisees I so hate
Were the constructors of the road I found to be my way?

But that’s not even what I’m talking about
   (I get carried away)

I guess what I’m trying to say –
Well, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.

When I’m walking around, post-vivisection
   Short-circuited, none of that old electrical connection
   Feeling so alone and trying to find my direction
      (Though I’m not why I’m writing)
When the ones I love best wanna die, and the rest don’t see the point of living
And I don’t even have the strength to cry.

And with my best friend’s second round with cancer
   Having to look her in the face and say I don’t have an answer.
Hoping, praying, that there’s hope in the future for her.
 (Even though I know there is)

A toast, clink of glasses underage
   Fears for faraway brothers,
   Tears for the one behind bars,
Knowing it’s not true but afraid anyway that the next years will tear you apart.

The feeling of waking up and not remembering,
And of crying with your raped sister till she can fall asleep,
The cold of staring into the eyes of a human devil,
Not knowing there’s one in your neighbor, until it’s too late to stop the trouble.
 Praying, my God, my soul to keep,
  For all the reasons I need to weep.

For, how could I ever know that the girl who wants to slay dragons
Finds herself defeated with worms?

These are exhalations, not explanations.
Just cerebral respiration.

Like that time when you wanna ask the Whirlwind why,
And you wanna obey your friends when they say
   Curse God and die.

But
  (Always with that three-letter conjunction)
But
  Burning in your mind like unending suction.

Why keep swimming when you only doggy-paddle?
Why keep resisting the coma?
 (Ask dark-haired Hikasa how anyone can live in a world so cruel and beautiful)
   When you find a joy inside, even when you want to curl up and cry.
The euphoria of a broken bone,
 A crown of thorns to go with the throne.
  The paradox of peace with pain,
    Some sunlight shining through the rain.

(Like a seed,
You gotta be drowned, buried alive
And covered in crap to grow)

That’s sort of what I’m saying, but not all
Hope someone can follow the reason to the keys I’m playing
   (because I’m definitely lost)

It’s something like what I’m saying
To know you need God, and think that you know you need God
  (Cause there’s a difference in that)
And right now I really don’t know which one of them I’m at.

You know there’s moments
The moments I want to stop believing but can’t because I know it’s true
   The way sunburns and the need to learn multiplication tables are true
   (The way sunsets and sunrises and love are true)
Burning, burning pain, but the pain of getting close to the sun
When you can actually do it - because he catches you before you fall
   The burning pain the way you can’t resist something that hurts because it’s true
      (Something like surgery, maybe)
     And the fear that comes when you realize it’s actually not trying to kill you.

I know that I ran away from it.
  (Or am I still running?)
So I guess it’s a good thing (in hindsight) that I can’t sprint.
Not that the drinking and cutting I had a stint in
When I ran out of breath did any good, either.
 (Some things aren’t meant to be avoided, I gather)

So when I stumbled into a rut
   (Drunk, sometimes, and other times high from self-hurt)
I guess you could say I found myself a crutch.
   (Because there can only be so much of your own blood before you realize it won’t work)
      (Because spilling your guts in a confessional won’t remit)

I guess I say crutch because that is what people call it
The word ‘religion’ uttered, muttered with utter disgust
   I know, I get disgusted, too, and if that’s what I was talking about, I’d agree with you.

But what I’m talking about is different.
 (If you can catch my drift thence)
It’s about taking minuend and subtrahend and spotting the difference
  (I mean, fish don’t know they depend on H2O)
  I mean – I’m sorry, I know I’m not very clear -
Really, it’s Macbeth and Henry seeking Shakespeare
  (I guess we’re getting closer to the point, here)
I’m talking about getting to the center of the galaxy
  and actually finding something there.
    Or flying past the farthest stars to find you’re seeing palms nail-scarred

I guess you could call it a crutch.


But if I could take a few more minutes…

What if I said that we don’t have desire unless we can fulfill it.
And if, by this world we aren’t satisfied, maybe the solution isn’t in it.

I mean, if you can go this thing alone
  (I know I thought I could)
Why is it you can’t sleep?
What’s bisected your home and keeps your heart from rising?
What pushes you to the embrace of the booze,
The hot hands hot on overdosing.
  (I know it, too)
  (Sometimes I don’t want to leave my bed, too)
    (I wish that I could help carry your pain, I wish I only knew)

That rotten fruit, that poisoned apple,
That thing plucked from the tree and bitten after the fangs of a snake
    (That thing we didn’t have to take)
A disease, hereditary, terminal, perpetual, integral,
 The diabolic diagonal versus divinity infallible.  
A disease that all the prescriptions and plasma screens and perfected self-fulfillment on the planet can’t prevent.

How is there fighting it?
The black hole nothing we try can dull
Could there be a reason why we don’t feel whole?

The only reason I can ask these questions is because I know they have an answer
  (If born without legs, without prosthetics, Rhythm couldn’t be a dancer)
Calling it a crutch – well, we all need help when we run our foot into an anchor
  (Or if you pull a hamstring)
       (Especially if it’s the one thing that keeps you alive after dying)


I know – I know.

I know I’m nothing more than a broken-down, broken-hearted,
  broke
     n rec
            ord.
I have more scars than most will ever have,
And I’ve made more mistakes than it looks like from the out.
    But deluded, delusional, liar, lied-to I am not.
(I don’t even know if these words will give you a second thought)
      (But I can hope and pray)


Would you still believe me if I told you God was the only way?
Not the god of silence and forced feelings,
  Or the invisible one you try to picture in the ceiling,
Not the god of stained glass and statues
But the God who will break everything,
     Stop at nothing, just to have you.

That’s what I’m telling you, now.

The only reason to continue living,
and why I’m not so afraid of dying.
       I guess – that’s what I’m trying to say.
        (if that makes any sense)
These tired exhalations, my reason, my two cents.
The only thing I have for you, and you can forget it when I’m through –

My only hope is that, after all,
      You see the love that’s waiting for you.
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Navy-Blue-Falconet's avatar
It's beautiful. I can relate despite not being so depressed.