only in the rarest moments is the world technicolor. you're running through the streets of a city (your city), there's wind blow in your hair, like really blowing, everything is neon and red and gushing and you can't stop your feet from carrying you across the universe. and in those rarities, there is the most manic, the most brilliant swell of violins in the pit of your stomach.
i am trapped in that moment- can't find the breath to leave. the colors are blinding and everyone is telling me to be quite, but i can't. they can't see what i see, the sorrow glowing from street lamps, the highs trapped in bathroom mirrors. every note of music is methodical and precisely put there and it makes me want to dance, but they don't know why.
i thank god that there is a sober rumble under my feet, that i am made to paint the sky with fingerprints. what a world would be like if i could only reach this high with poisons- and those don't even do it justice. everyone tells me that i have a pre-destiny carved in my skin, something that's cracking, bursting to be set free. i never believe them, but in these moments, i do. god, i do. it's beautiful and tragic and lonely and blinding but i wouldn't change a thing.
the world is coming full circle now, tears weeping for they know this is it: this is gold. the past and present are handshaking before my eyes, the spectrum is widening, and i've never felt so manically happy.
if one could freeze time, stay in that bundle of crazed highs forever, they would have the power to create new universes. and i think god did well in keeping us human, and keeping our moments fleeting. that way, we will always be chasing the world round and round.
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potency
Poetrycan you hear them? every step aching toward us? : the here and now poems
