Post-Happiness Infusion

Are these my real thoughts
My actual ideas put in words
Or are they just a product of depression
A post-happiness infusion
A post-happiness display

Everything was so stable
Until I was murdered
By sentimental happiness

Have you ever felt it's impossible to learn
That you always fall back into your own past mistakes
As if you set a pattern for yourself that you must now follow
It's in your blood and carved in stone
Forged from your fear of the comfortable
And from your fear of being alone
In combination

Everything was so stable
I had pieced together everything I could find
Every little piece of paper, pieced together with glue
Forming the most delicate of statues
I had waterproofed it
So it would sail safely
In the rain
In the gutters

Had I ever expected the glue to dissolve
Or for the sun to kill its way through the darkness
Had I ever expected all these connections
All these encapsuled memories
Trapped in my mind
Escaping in laughter
And in tears

Why can't I embrace the unpredictable
Why am I dependent on scenarios in my mind
I relive them always, chasing the undeniable
And creating new ones from time to time
The plausible, the impossible, the improbable
They all struggle in my mind
And when reality strikes
I realize

It never matters what wars go on inside of me
When I only struggled for show and for comfort
Forcing my demons to believe my sugarcoated whispers
In promises about tomorrows I had no right to give away
Tomorrows that were never mine
They were only mine to borrow

Mumble Jumble

I wish I could put my thoughts down in poetry, because I currently feel pretty poetic and deep, but there's just random lines floating about in my head that don't make sense, don't correlate... I'm a little confused and very tired and my head is filled with recent moments of laughter and timeless bubbles cut away from the rest of the world... I wonder if there's something remarkable about certain people. I feel like the people surrounding me daily just fill me with energy and it's like I had forgotten what that felt like, forgotten what people like that could do, what difference they could make. I guess the conclusion I can draw from that is that I really feel like I'm at home and it feels like I would never trade these days for anything. I think I'm going to miss these times a lot when it's all over... I'll try not to think about that, for now...

So at the same time why is everything so depressing? Everyone's feelings, my own feelings, how they clash, how they rebel, how they go into war. All the thoughts jumbled in my head mixing the hopes I have about the future while being absolutely convinced that future will never appear before me, I'll never live to see it...

It was a long time since I felt so split, but it may be a good thing. It can be turned into words. Into art. Into determination and ambition... if only I learn to catch up properly on my sleep...

POET IN THE GLASS JAR

Details

When will I stop reading things into every detail
Things that only flickered by in the minds of others
But to me they are enlarged and deemed important
Deemed vital for unknown reasons I'm sure will show
Reasons I'm sure will save the world or the universe
Or at least save me

I wonder if the insight will eventually break me down
When I realize there was never anything grand
about all those small things that no one ever noticed
Those small things that I lived for
Those small things that I breathed for

When will I stop hoping for the naivest of dreams
And when will I stop nurturing that little knot in my chest
That only unties at certain occasions
At certain inclinations

Are you even aware that I'm breathing
Are you aware what I read into everything you say
What would you say to me if you were able to read me too
Like I was an open book, kind of like you

Let's pretend I don't recognize this feeling
Pretend I don't know what path I'm going down
The highway to my own destruction
Neatly laid out under my feet
By my treacherous heart

I thought I had told myself I could be rational
I could listen to my own logic, reason and rhyme
But it seems I keep being unpredictable, untameable
Time, after time

When will I stop reading things into every detail
Stop intercepting every imaginary message
Sent down the imaginary tubes
Signed by the invisible
Signed by you

POET IN THE JAR