Butterfly?

Butterfly?

Epihany

The same stubborn scenario
The same view every night
A silhouette, close to the edge
A moth under the light
The echo of my thoughts
On infinite repeat
A schizophrenic mind field
Of two and a half feet

Turned one hundred and eighty
In a blanketed cocoon
A butterfly to a moth
Under the light of the moon
A stark and palpable silence
An insurmountable rut
Urges, kept at arm’s length
Until my eyes flutter shut

Take me back to my muse
Release me from this storm
From the cold of my creation
The bitter back to the warm
From this tempest in a teapot
 These chilling winds of blame
 The frigid reality each night
The moth back to the flame

An exasperating tug of war
Across a span of diminished hope
There has to be some solace
Near the end of my rope
Nothing that I can do or say
Changes, impervious to gain
The collateral damage is done
A consequence to the pain

So many months, eaten away
The thin fabric of a ruse
Resentful of my own creation
 A moth disguised as a muse
Rose-coloured tunnel vision?
Wishful thinking all along?

For the sanity of lost time
It would help if I was wrong

Take me back to my muse
Release me from this regret
From the pall of uncertainty
That hangs over me yet
From the now back to the then
The difference of day to night
To open arms and an open mind
To a butterfly, in a better light

Confined

“People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it.”
– Jim Morrison20150930_213223[1]

 Confined

He goes to bed each night
alone with the ache
 His internal conflict
keeping them both awake
Wakes up weary every morning
lying beside his vanity
With a smile for his children
and a check mark for his sanity

Physical versus mental
in a battle of his pain
Sensory and substantial
is the signal from his brain
From necessity and habit
you conceal what you feel
It’s mind against matter
with wounds that won’t heal

Scar tissue and time
The confines of the mind
Self-motivation
Self-preservation
Selfishly suppressing the pain
Scar tissue and time
A safe place to hide
He
fights the pain

His wounds remain
Sustaining himself from inside

An actor playing himself
in the true story of he
Absorbed in the role of everyman
and that’s who he has to be

Scripted by circumstance
he has lines on every page
Penned for his own purposes
he is resplendent on his stage

 
A song written in his head
but needed by his heart

Lyrics intended for healing
they’re upbeat from the start
Motivation for mind and body
 Affected, but indeed sincere
He gives a selfless performance
for everyone to hear

Scar tissue and time
The complexities of the mind
Self-medication
Self-preservation
Selfishly deflecting the pain
Scar tissue and time
Enduring another day
Different roots of pain

No Ledger or Cobain
Determined to go another way

Scar tissue and time
You conceal what you feel
It’s mind against matter
When wounds never heal

Scar tissue and time
In the confines of your mind
You ascend another day
Starting from behind

 

SHELTER

Suppressing the urge to start anew

He knows just what he shouldn’t do

Never opens his doors at all

Never leaves from within his walls

 

His eyes may be open wide

But usually he will choose to hide

Safe within a world of doubt

Deafening whisper, reticent shout

 

Room to room with scattered thoughts

Kitchen cupboards holding empty pots

Basement depths, in cold calamity

Off-white walls, housing humanity

 

Ghosts remind him of past pains

Dragging demons like heavy chains

Apparitions fade into darkest night

Dissolved by cracks of laden light

 

An echo of places and names and places

Unfamiliar feelings and familiar faces

Hallways filled with hollow laughter

Closets shelved with before and after

 

Room to room with scattered thoughts

Kitchen cupboards holding empty pots

Leaking fixture, in bathroom vanity

Off-white walls, housing his sanity

 

His room is colder than ever before

Bitter draft through hardwood floor

He pulls the covers over his head

But feels no warmer in this bed

 

Sleepless hours afraid to dream

Lost alone in a recurring theme

Sheltered from the break of dawn

He always keeps his curtain drawn

 

Room to room with scattered thoughts

Kitchen cupboards holding empty pots

Low ceilings, in harsh tranquility

Off-white walls, housing humility

 

Room to room, in sheltered resistance

Off-white walls, housing existence

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