Roses

“I like my lattes without sugar; thank you very much,” I said, before realising that statement of preference was about as necessary as the roots of a rose. I grabbed my coffee, and sat down under the false ceiling sprinkled evenly with the multicolours of Christmas cheer. It was a simple wooden chair, made cold with mass-production and an over-reliance of air conditioning. In front of me, a computer merely a few years old, yet betraying me at every click. And so there I sat, on that warm December Day.

I thought again about the roots of a rose, those parts so essential to the development of such a powerful symbol, yet discarded every time before the symbol is presented. I thought, “Maybe this would be a good symbol to use for some future poem.” before accepting that any poem about roses would probably be detrimental to my mental health. I stared blankly at the screen, thinking about everything that has been said before about what I write, about how much I had complained how difficult it is to break out and get your work seen, about how much effort I had poured into this pastime while constantly thinking that my work is utter garbage. Inspiration came like the holiday cheer: hard-hitting, and yearly. Or so it seemed. With no possible avenue for me to be taken seriously, and with no motivation to move on, I had no choice but to accept my incompetence and move on.

My next series of thoughts were directed straight towards my routine-driven life and the end of all routine coming soon. Some might liken one’s military experience to a rose filled with thorns, while others, like myself, liken it to the sinking of Atlantis. A probable tragedy with a lot of great stories. And while Atlantis was sinking, my Republic of Optimism went down with it. Filled with a constant bitterness, I had no choice but to accept that nothing good can come of anything unless I move on. Speaking of which, my coffee was a bit too bitter, which sucks considering coffee was my world.

The arctic ice was melting, and my coffee was getting more and more dilute. Ordering my latte iced was another regret to add to the list. In a dramatic turn of events, I went back, and added some sugar syrup, successfully suffocating any remaining resemblance of genuine café-loving vibes. “Some things I do don’t make a difference, and some things I say don’t have a point,” I wondered. While everyone worked on something meaningful, I worked on meta-writing and an unsuccessful WordPress poetry blog.

I would have gotten my latte without sugar no matter what I said. Self-service, they called it. I wish I could do myself a service. My words were like the roots of a rose. Pluck them away and the symbol goes to waste. But at least the pretty picture would still remain.

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A Chemical Overreaction

put equal parts lye and spirits of salt
together gently; drop by drop falling from
an funnel-like sky, changing chemistry,
we were watching the ratio flow past one to one
you screamed — stop — and we were too late
we’ve gotten too caught up in ourselves
(one to one, together gently)
ultimately harmless beyond this logarithm
of drip, drop, drip, drop, done, done! drip, stop!
I thank you for knowing when to end.

Continue reading “A Chemical Overreaction”

The Understanding of a Friend

The both of us together is a wonder.

Our eyes pierce one another with analytical stares;
It wasn’t a casual glance of generalising scowls
This single moment means forever, we blink and then
the truth sets in, and you approach me silently
with open arms.

I feel the warmth of your dull coloured sweater
against the chill in this cold, dark weather
I feel the great joy of your embrace
against this congestion of bad days

A voice utters a series of words I cannot comprehend.
In the moment, I was utterly lost and struck with pallor.
I found myself saying, “What does it mean?”
“Appreciation.” Yes, that was the answer.

I wish that moment could have lasted forever.

 

Continue reading “The Understanding of a Friend”

A Note Regarding The Circumstances Of Reality

I still dream of you every night,
a fantasy shining ever-bright, full
of color and feel and depth and matter,
unscratched edges rough with pallor

Beside me you lie before my eyes;
I am unable to reject
the price of the past. I look
at the future, still hopeful.

It’s terrifying, but you still sleep
by my side. What I feel is real but
to you, unnatural. You never leave me
but you’re never there.

I touch your face calmly every night.
I utter, “this is perfect; you and me”
I kiss your forehead in respite
“I believe this is our destiny.”