DELUSIONS

I am writing this at midnight.
I am writing this to divulge myself, yet in another illusion, that I have deciphered the subtlety of the universe.
I am connecting in metaphors because strangely, it feels virtuous to add another brick to the wall of oblivion.

All has been written about silence. About how they can be malicious. Darkness and how they can be allusive . Solitude and how they can be benevolent. Dreams and how they can be exhilarating. ‎
‎You can moralize about how to hold one’s ground, about action over thought, about voice over sensibility, about love over resistance, about facts over fantasy.
‎My trembling feet will still find a refuge, under the blanket of lie, woven by some melancholic madman, who was too drunk on life to be sleeping at night.

‎No matter how clever maze i build, memories will still find a way, to crawl back to feed on its prey. And I will gladly be offering my flesh.
I will be composing a story, while memories will be gnawing the remains.

My perishable being, faithlessly hoping that this lie, will one day nourish a little wildflower at a cold, long dead grave.
And while you can study bunch of rebelling assholes like us under a separate branch of medicine,
Sitting in your comfortable leather chair,
prescribing industrially manufactured complex carbon
To correct the complex carbon cosmically built,
We will be writing a poem to remind you, that life forces begin from within.
While our stories become a conversation piece,
something to laugh about with every gulp of whiskey,
we will be burning another cigarette of possibility, in our defense , contemplating,
about how our insanity almost sense .

So, here’s to the little things.

Here’s to the fireflies. The shimmering , pale yellow light, to remind me that how for a moment i am here, and how despite my absence, life prevails.
About how my midnight musings almost aligned with the stars, and how my existence almost mattered.