Oblivion
Spews Forth Delicate Souls
“How could
she say to me
Love will find a way
Gather round all you clowns
Let me hear you say
‘Hey you've got to hide your love away’”
-The Beatles
I would give up the fulfillment of enlightenment
to be with you and your so called love
like breaking the filament
of the light bulb that lights my life,
staying in darkness, frustrated but not alone,
for the deities of emotions,
demons of the real and corporeal
would be infused in your beauty.
We would lie in bed, wondering what to do
until the next orgasm, the major distraction,
the reason why we turned our backs from heaven;
Ignorance of sin is no life at all.
Living in a Spartan church with good natured people
behind Plexiglas walls,
never touching anyone
but myself,
feeling the disgust of human skin and hair.
If nothing is real, then why do I feel
the need to be alone, gnawing on a bone.
to rhyme is crime
in the face of time, my doctor says.
They’re signs of schizophrenia, but don’t worry,
all of you students will get pre med syndrome
and all of you spiritualists will feel nothing,
believing everything is a lie,
that your godless existence
is a cruel game made by a man
who doesn’t want to take responsibility
for his drug addictions.
Happiness is a hallucination
like the understanding of reality
while looking at a picture, or listing to a song.
Consciousness exaggerates its self
and poetry is one way to understand this;
simple situations
blown out of proportion
but somehow pleasing to the mind,
through rhythm or creativity
or empathy for the writer
who scribbles his thoughts on a wall,
with no care at all
for land lord rules,
for they shall surely come,
the madding bulls,
ready to trample all in their enlightening
path.
Mathias Berlin
