It’s BOREDOM. Tears have glued is eyes together.
You know it well, my Reader. This obscene
Beast chain-smokes yawning for the guillotine—
You—hypocrite Reader—my double—my brother!
—Charles Baudelaire, “To the Reader,” from The Flowers of Evil
Sitting quiet in my discontent,
Restless, wound-up—pent.
I scream in the loudest
Silence.
I disappear,
Swallowed by want of escape.
Implode—explode
SOME mode different than this
Static state.
Indifference, my friend—my captor—
Hears my scream, lies
Makes for me a gossamer bed of
Nothing.
I lie in it, sinking down down down
The softest down…
Lull to sleep passions,
Sedate ambitions,
Mute desires,
Paralyzed mind.
I watch the world through a dream,
cloudy, distant, disconnected dream.
A dream where I, apparitional, observe,
Resigned to my isolation, unable to partake.
Aching the sweetest saddest ache—
That part in me still aware—
Objecting, rejecting my new-found fate.
“Hush now, don’t cry. Sssshhhhhh…
you too, will sleep in time.”
Giving up the struggle,
Laying down saber—no longer willing
to fight,
My Rage quiets—the last—
Passing quietly into that dark night,
No longer stirring thoughts into frenzied
confusion.
On this I exist for a time—a soft, gentle
tick-tockless, numbing time.
Poisoned, growing ever weaker,
Wanting more and less.
When in this void something twitches…
Kicks,
Stretches—yawning and looking ‘round
at my emotions in death-sleep on the ground
Lets loose a barbaric yawp!
My Rage awake, tries in vain to kiss—
Give back life to my life.
Hot kiss with fiery lips,
Connecting nothing with nothing,
Creating something.
Stirred, immured
Against Indifference I rise,
Striding toward a destiny I know not,
With Passions re-lighted,
Ambitions re-livened,
Desires again voiced,
Putting in motion my Mind.
Indifference reproached,
Slinks back to her lowly den.
Biding her time,
Storing her devices uncaring,
Patiently waiting
For that silent scream to sound again.