The Next Space

She flitted away into the thin air, leaving
Traces of her ice-white flames
Where a quite quaint kiosk stood quietly
She gave me a smile as she said, “Come and follow me.”
The closest simile I can think of to describe her intonation,
Consists of: like she knew of something I didn’t know of.

When she shone, again, at the nexus
Like she said she would, she then left.
Leaving me, right here, with no way
To reach the next space, I
Frantically sought after her sanctity,
But I can’t seem to remember,
Where or when it was, when I asked
Myself; Isn’t it enough that I saw her,
That I found her again and again,
To prove to my brethren of my not insanity?

When I knew that it wasn’t.
Because the last time I’d nearly
Convinced them mystical beings existed.

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Hate

Motives thrown into the dark,
Differences in intended talks
Given a perfunctory glance in brevity,
Grievous deceptions on rear backs,
Wounded, stitches healed, those scarred,
Persuasions in illicit exaggerations
Lost to authorizations, collaborated religiously,
Bleak futures surmounted as disregard,
Thrown out from nth storied buildings,
Where lasted love prevailed, despite
Reordered sigmas, regardlessly.


Disorientation

Is it possible to fall in love with probabilities,
To fall in love with a soul that’s a maybe,
To fall in love with intangible realities.

Then why is it that I have fallen
For the just barely.

These semblances
Keep resonating inside
Archaic echoes of concentric conceptions
Of discomforting dazes in ecstasies
Where eyes of a deranged criminal cackled
Then cracked in crippling dins of
Dined vehement emanations.

Integrations of cyclical motions
Deduced as fragments of
Kaleidoscopic ignitions.

Still,
With her nonexistent voice,
She urges:
“Push”,
Within exceeded pain thresholds
In jolts of crumbling lulls.