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#Philosophistication

Ink Like Water

Dreaming of my sanity, rhyming
and not minding me, sanity.
I need to cough out an intimate
verse, the universe asks for this,
pick up my feet, my fingerprints
embark, starstruck, these galaxies
are too far apart, I need a pathway,
I’ve been castaway, the new day
burns, the sun melts away who
I am, push me to the edge, I
forgot to age, with a skull buried
in words and nerves being sharpened
by a page, paper cuts, I need a
new sign, maybe sanity I’ve failed
to truly define, I’ve been detained
by the lack of detail in my devil,
cynical; I’m journeying to a
simple destiny where there’s coffee
cups and poetry, but these thorns
are prickling me, price to live
asks me to be peaceful with my
finger when I express my mentalities,
I need new energy, a new anarchy
within me, I’m done bleeding reason
to thee, I sensed the lack of commonless
in your sense, my framework needs
work, this veld needs a fire, ablaze:
passion needs to scorch my earth.
Stop following the one with no
path in his way, my day ends,
my words fade in memory,
I’ve injured mindsets, lied to
my kindred, detached self from
simplicity; I’ve complicated
the phase, sophisticated; verbs
and nouns have become, with
breath I can no longer be calm,
I’m calling the little boy, crawl
from me, take your umbilical and
fall from me.

Strings attached, hatred for the
folks who ate me apart, pain
groomed art, now I’m a poet
falling ill, these writings foresaw
the thrill but forgot to warn
about a broken heart, now someone
has to mend that, meant to be
king, but the crown just shuts
up my mind, I need halos to
brighten and warm up these thoughts,
I’m deformed trying to form
others around, I’m scouting for
inspiration from the unknown folk,
what is this in my thoughts, I
have fought, healed and rescued
most. Close the chapter, open anew,
tour my rapture, this mind will
leave a scar in me, I bleed reason
and hide the foolishness and idiocy
that haunts me within,
believe me, I’ve always fallen ill,
maybe the womb cursed me from
the start, now I have to wash for
dignity to look my way, delay my wake,
up I need to fold my pages, these
sheets are where I dream of the day,
spray paint my veins, the tunnel to
my heart needs an aesthetic that
sets my cells free from battling
the droplets of my ink, the hive
of them is in the way.

Let me go astray,
let me not to the likeness
of hay, I’m needling pages,
acupuncture; punctuating
in the right way…,”‘;!?

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Grant Pennycook

℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗

2020 All Rights Reserved ©

Ink Like Water

Can a Poem free the Poet?

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