An unpleasant or harmful vapor.
A phrase or statement written in memory of someone dead.
I stutter and fall
Because this is an obstacle course
In which fire is merely a deterrent
And not actually a tool of destruction
My heart thrums with verisimilitude
- I am about as real as an illusion
For you see everything you want to
And not what really lies beneath
My sleep schedule consists of
Insomnia and then artificial rest
In the form of caffeine -
Pandiculation holds no part in my life.
They give me compliments that all amount to
Pulchritude, not realizing that these comments
Of my physical beauty mean nothing to me - I would
Much rather be met with an acclamation of my intelligence
When I am old (I refuse to say 'if')
I will look back at my youth and
Wonder what I am doing with my life,
But if you want the truth - I'm wondering now.
But even if a septuagenarian-me
Could reminisce, I cannot look back on my past now
Because I was always a coward, I am always a coward
I have a low pain tolerance, a low world tolerance
I need time to get it right -
Follow lifelines until they are cut,
Until they dissipate into dust
Just like my old school photographs
I must disambiguate the meaning
Of the word 'happiness' to my inner dictionary
For a boxer fighting battles inside my mind
Cannot afford clouded thoughts
There is so much I want to say
So much more than I can fit in a
Four-line verse, but I shall try
Try, try, try until I run out of energy.
I look away for a moment
And when my gaze finds its way back,
I am surprised to find that
I have absquatulated hand-in-hand with my poetry
I am wearing paper-thin
With imprints of past words
Running through my mind like
A palimpsest marathoner
But someday I will recall
What it feels like to be ebullient.
I will, because I will not be depressed forever.
I was someone before, I will be someone after.
Let me erase my history,
Let this be a testimonial to a viable human being,
Not a epitaph, or a poem describing
The effluvium infecting my brain.
I run my bloodstream with words
And my index-heart has never stopped at all.
I will no longer be a capsized sailboat,
Instead a raging storm against the white-sand beach.