Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
My sprite outline shifts, like low bit rate video,
Once solid, it now divides, slides and pixelates,
My voice glitches and over compresses,
Wet peaking audio, pumps and squelches,
The pixelated wave, smears and bends,
Before black suddenly fills the array,
All sound mutes, feeding silence starved ears,
IRL the world is fabricated, controlled, and artificial,
And we are all just NPCs in the game of life.
The sweet floral scent of blue lotus flowers, rides the night breeze,
Warm golden sands, are a soft powder under bare feet,
They rise gently upwards becoming domed dune peaks,
Beyond which lays a velvety black and star-studded sky,
As a full moon slumbers, vivid, white, and luminous,
Beams shimmer across the sands like glittering diamonds,
There is a calming silence, it provides a sense of distance,
From the constant whispering call of the ocean of dreams,
This dreamscape is safe, here the sleeper can walk freely,
This realm is for the hurt, the weary, and the broken,
Its misty confines offer protection, a private place to heal,
So sleep now, and awaken healed, replenished, in the morning sun.
Today I forced myself to focus on self-repair,
I’ve recently felt tethered, floating at the ocean edge,
Drifting out further and further, while fraying my lifeline,
I arranged to meet old friends, who inspired me to continue,
To work harder at improving my personal wellbeing,
To stop feeding this widening void I have growing within me,
I have felt quite alone dealing with my internal pressures,
I’ve been angry, feeling that I’m the only one who is suffering,
So, I’ve been poisoning myself to block out all thought and light,
The poison only works for a moment, but it creates more problems,
Like Dr Jekyll, I have been struggling with my own Mr Hyde for years,
My emotions lately are irregular and extreme, ashamed, I hide them,
Stress, tears, anger, self-hate, solitude, alcoholism, self-castigation,
I don’t feel like I’m in control, I have poor memory, I dislike contact,
I don’t want to connect anymore, I feel incapable of doing so,
Hearing today that I’m not alone in experiencing changes, has helped,
I was unsure where this raft I ‘m on was going to take me if released,
I was leaving me behind, one way the other, I was going to drown,
After this week, I am determined to focus more on healthier routines,
To drop the vices that have plagued me, and hopefully improve,
I need to step off the tethered raft, and back onto solid ground,
I must evolve Mr Hyde from self punishing monster, into regular man,
I doubt I still have enough left in the tank to make great changes,
But at this point, any change for good, is better than not trying at all.
The clouds are clearing from my mind this morning,
I have been lost, in what felt like a sandstorm,
Walking blindly, poorly attempting to protect myself,
Rather than find shelter, I have pressed forward,
Sadly to my own detriment, but that storm is passing,
My mind is a little clearer, and I can see with some clarity,
So now, for the sake of my mind, I am taking shelter,
It took a week for the turbulent seas of my mind to calm,
Unfortunately, that stillness arrives in time for another storm,
Work and personal related stress, anxiety, self-worth,
The perfect storm that we can all easily get lost in,
Getting to the other side without damage, is a challenge,
I don’t like the night, disturbed is an apt word for my dreamtime,
With each new morning, I can breathe, I can take stock,
And I can continue this journey I am on.
What am I doing to myself lately,
It feels like I’m punishing myself,
Yet I have done nothing wrong,
Everything feels like it’s too much,
I feel an inner struggle going on,
I’ve noticed I’m drinking too often,
Lying to myself that I’m having fun,
While knowing full well that it’s poison,
Drinking to remember, but also to forget,
This poem is a reminder for me,
To catch myself before I fall,
Time for self-care, to better myself,
Pull myself up again, out of this mire,
I feel like I am in mourning, I lament,
The world I once lived in is dying,
Fading away, soon to be forgotten, ignored,
Replaced by unknown new moments,
I just can’t seem to let go of my ghosts,
The further time moves me from them,
The more clouded my memories become,
The faces are erased and they feel so distant,
But the memories persist, like echoes,
Thorns that pierce my mind, bound to me,
Why can’t I just let it all go,
Perhaps my ego fears the truth,
That I too will fade away, forgotten in time.
I can feel myself slowly drifting into unease,
As autumn colour broadens its embrace,
The landscape shifts, trees become skeletal,
Lawns are covered in a blanket of the fallen dead,
Cold mornings arrive, giving way to brilliant sunshine,
While cold nights invoke a fear of the coming winter,
The impending solitude and confinement weigh heavy,
Seasonal inertia creeps, with a deathlike silence,
The state of mind the ice season brings is sobering,
A time when the elderly pass, and the young suffer,
Winter brings fat billionaires, rubbing their grotesque trotters,
While all hibernate to survive, until the next change of season.
Boundaries must be engaged and maintained,
A healthy human distance must be respected,
For, when lines are crossed, all can become blurred,
Where once a hive of focus and creativity existed,
A race began, where disrespect and greed took precedence,
What was once pure, became tainted and distorted,
Irrevocably transformed into something else,
We all wear masks to protect ourselves, to survive,
At work, in love, at play, and even when we are alone,
But it is vital that our original face is seen, for forgiveness,
The real us must be exposed, with all it’s scars and fragility,
When we take off that final mask each night.
I feel like I have been baked, drawn out in the summer sun,
I am flayed, filleted, butterflied meat,
Pinned in place upon scorching white sands,
My flesh dries, itching and stinking in the heat,
My mind dehydrates into a milky white emptiness,
I am hollow, invalid, void of any feeling,
I stare into the burning sun, and I become brittle,
Eventually, I am packaged, sold, and consumed,
Welcome to the new age of repugnant influencers,
Originality and creativity, is dead, fame is your new god.
Here it is again, that shaky over charged feeling,
The rush from the poison coursing through me,
Dependence, availability, sadness,
The three ingredients that uncover hidden pains,
I’m forever spilling what I feel into a digital emptiness,
All that is lost and all that is forgotten returns,
There is nowhere to go now, I am self-ignited,
I am lost in what can be, reality has no meaning here,
The pack I carry is heavy, the cup I drink from always empty,
Some souls get better, thinner, faker, happier,
Welcome aboard, we will never make landfall,
And you will never be free from your mind.
Stirring from sleep with a jolt,
The heart beating furiously,
The pulse pumping,
A gaze wide and confused,
Covered in cold sweat,
Things unseen move in shadow,
Inner depths cause silent screams,
No way out, there’s no way out,
Lost in dreams of death and black seas,
What secrets do closed eyes see,
More, than woken minds conceive.
Dan Verkys 