Numbers that never go beyond
A certain amount
But predictable depletions
Never rising yet
Always have enough to keep on falling
I am starting to develop a fear of checking my account balance, just like how I instinctively avoid the mirror as well as weighing scale.
Random thought: if a disaster happened, money wouldn’t matter because it will all burn away and no longer becomes a status, but a consequence.
So why am I so hard up about it now?
Dollars and cents shouldn’t define us.
But it shapes my lifestyle.
A board kept empty
To always appear spacious
For alternate views
And space to breathe
It serves as a warning for
Thoughts that beg to differ
A statement of all thoughts that came
Vanished, perished and condemned
Behind bars we can never see
Stifled and silent suffocation
To never speak
Is not right and
Is not welcomed when
Everyone starts locking their doors
And hiding the keys whenever they leave
Is where the heart is
And ours are imprisoned someplace
No longer safe
My body vanishes and my mind wanders away
Away into the blinding white matter of space
Space of all emotions and my floating fingers
Fingers left drifting along with no more weight
Weightless and carelessly trying to hold on
On to pockets of fresh air and win over gravity
Gravity that suffocates and sinks and smother
Smother all rational thoughts and, only emotions
Emotions in this blinding white space of nothing
Nothing to grasp, so lost and confused
My fingers keep floating
Air – for breathing, for space, for growth. Also, for death to be frozen in time.
Black and white
Adds up to gold
In the Sun
Oxidation ritual of
Filling in the gaps
Burning the tongue
Ash and dust
Caress dead leaves
Reflected in the lake
Hands shaking and eyes darting
Voice stuck between throat and conviction and the will
Static noises mimicking the heart
Breaking and blood pounding
Anger the only companion of sadness
Language does so little when your body says so much in moments of pure emotion.