Just because.

To be freed from something is not always what it seems.
Being back in Ohio hasn't really felt normal since I have been back.
In hindsight, I cannot regret my decision, even if I feel that I should.
In hindsight, I need to remember that I am much more than I allowed myself to become in the days and weeks that have slowly passed me by.
And now that I've lived like an insect.
Like a fly.
Buzzing around on someone else's wall.
With out my own sweet, painted walls...
I've come to find that when alone
 I have to face my fears,
 I know.

I've nothing  now but endless time .
and  here I am-
 without a dime.
Without a rhyme.
Without a face.
I'm not established in this place .

But try my hardest now, I will.
and try to see that I am still-
the rose that i once knew I
was.
When I was redder
just because.

When texts become...well. this.

I cannot streamline anything. 

Alone. 

Down here again. 

I don't know how to quit the things 

I've tried so hard to 

stop. 

It's not like our new bubble, 

it won't deflate or pop. 

Instead it's like a message that I've tattooed to my 

mind. 

Afraid to be alone 

with only just one pair of eyes. 

It's not okay to feel this way. 

I know it has to change. 

The other eyes are slighted, decomposed and rearranged .

And though I feel the poison in his overdosed, 

cramped hover. 

He's like a button contract. 

"Give your eyes now, to another."

But if in fact, I do it,

cut them out without a plan. 

I''ll wind up like the pixied lost

in "other mother" land

It's crystal clear when 

we deft the 

nag of obligation

until i finally catch the cold of crystal 

separation. 

The clarity of see-through glass without 

your heart to lead it...

It lends itself to fogging up 

and though I do still feel it

The parallels and hues inside the 

safety of your form

Get lost as I get mixed up past the calm eye of 

your storm. 

I don't want to desert you. 

I only wish to give you more. 

For hidden underneath you is the

love i've waited for. 

We painted it all backwards. 

And it hurts. 

But do the math....

We've found the destination, 

But we haven't any path. 

I promise to 

discover, dig and 

carve up every land...

If you can walk us through 

the broken tracks. 

and hold my hand. 

And perhaps during moments when the 

pressure sparks it hotter. 

The burn will 

melt my 

guilded wings. 

So I can be your water. 

Small.

Unleashed in thought-
We have not gone
The ones we walk and stand 
Among. 
Diminished lovers of the colors of the world.
We cannot be ourselves,
Can we?
We were bought by
Society.

How Magic Goes

The first day since I have been here that I felt seemingly incapable of stopping.
It's almost 2 am and I can't feel anything.


I wouldn't feel the sun if it was warm upon my face.
I wouldn't see the moon
if it eclipsed for me  in lace.
I wouldn't hear the voice of singing angels in
a chorus.
I wouldn't know our fortune
if a psychic read palms for us.
I cannot feel the winter, or the autumn or the spring.
I cannot see the thunder.
I cannot feel most anything.
I don't know if it's better if I go or stay this way.
But this moment I'm the fallen
To  addiction
I was prey.
Come sun I'll try to fix it.
Come sun I'll try to rise.
With newfound rested thoughts
and painted lips,
and dewy eyes.
But tonight I lurk in shadow.
Hidden under mickey's nose
We are the slaves under the magic.
But that is just how magic goes.

Wandering

"All learning has an emotional base."
                                 -Plato
I feel very restless today.
Like a wind up clock without hands.
Like a time frame with no event.

I'm a lost planner of sorts, having fully engaged in
embracing negativity for certain notions that I once held to be valid and true.

I feel strange and yet,
oddly aware.

I don't know how to be the "to-do"
list anymore .

But I miss even that.

At least then I had a definition.


-Lys

Transience

Among other things, this past week has been run over by a number of strange circumstances. I didn't want my word of the day to be what is in the forefront of my mind right now, but it feels like something that I  must unwillingly admit to, if only because I have chosen this adjective as the singular and most ironic constant in my  life. 

Transient. 

I don't know why the font of it was green. 

The word just  was. 

Transient= an inability to remain steady. 

An inability to remain still. 

I have desired transience in many aspects of my life.

Namely within my personal relationships. 

I never thought it was out of fear ,but rather, out of an understanding that tying myself to a  tree stump over and over again would eventually lend itself to a 

dull pair of scissors. 

And something that I've tied myself to voluntarily would become my

 ineffectual existence. 

As a part of something living, yes. 

But not as a part of something moving. 

It's almost a desire to remain in movement with water. 

I cannot be like Earth. 

In this way, I can ebb and flow in whatever direction life takes me. .....

And then I read the physical definition of transient..

:: Decaying with time.

Can transience actually be displayed as a function of something 

rotting?

The very thing that has lifted me to the height of disconnected flight is the 

same thing that has the ability to decay away any 

welcome mats

I may have placed in random places 

when I've cut the string too many times

from what I thought were

dying tree stumps. 

Maybe, without knowing it, 

it is I who never followed a path  long enough 

to decode the encrypted enigma within it.

Maybe, in actuality, we are chained by our drive for perfection.

Perhaps the decaying tree doesn't have grounded roots. 

Perhaps it is grounded in my transient nature;

spindly tentacles wrapped around my pulsing, 

warm-winded heart. 

What starts as life, as green comes to an end in this, 

that my flight, my pressure filled storm, 

has been fighting against an enemy 

that I've long considered my friend. 

Can you give something enough water to bring it back to life, 

when the summer has has already begun 

Internal Autumn?

Oh, how  beautiful , how colorful

the leaves change in the fall. 

Before the cold of winter frosts 

dark death 

over us all .

-Lys

Broken Stringed Words

I sat with my lukewarm
  Cinnamon Sugar
Enhanced coffee
 in
           its
              Sunflower
 Cup
                     This morning.
 The cookies were only mixed together.
 We are alive but one second of the
 Earth's time.
 Bound by impermance, but also freed by it.
 In this actualization there is internal vigor :
created by tragic inevitablility of our
 shadowed journey.
 Where we all will go.
at the end of all of this.