Advice & Hot takes

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Poetry

Dreamlike State

Dissociate with me.

Scrub out your skull with bleach. 

Close your eyes and let that warm sense of the impossible wash over you.

 

Chase that dragon. 

Let the curtain open and dim the lights. 

Muzzle the sound surrounding you, and let the smoke settle in. 

Awake brand new. 

 

Acts of triumph. Words of wit and valor articulate. Sensual and sloppy lips exchange with erotic strangers. Sweet nothings whispered by lovers. Popularity and passion drawn to you. Showered in shillings and jewels. Even martyrdom. 

 

All for you.

It's all a hoax, of course. 

Nothing more than a future of an illusion. 

Maladaptive behavior, really. 

 

It's more desirable here though. 

Homely and luminescent fantasies to dissolve into. 

Eclipse reality and float down with me into the abyss. 

I don't feel real somedays.

Blending into the sound of sitcoms, the furniture, the  empty pizza boxes, and discarded degrees carelessly hung up on the wall. 

Without contributing to the great land of the free, do I even exist? 

Under capitalism I suppose I do not. 

Clouded thoughts of academic lectures, theorist, consume me with existential dread. Does anything matter?

Smoking, drinking, vaping, snorting, swallowing, the shame I feel away.

Dark shallow eyes with a pale face to match, reflecting back at me is almost entirely lost. Blending into the walls to create a recreated image of a woman who once lived. 

A waste. 

Like refrigerator magnets, she hangs connected to a frigid white tundra that never wanted her. 

A tragic reality. 

It can't be true. 

Chrysophrase

I still think about those nights. Those nights with your head on my chest, while I played with your hair. Your lions main. 

 

Your energy was so warm.

 

They type of warmth that your soul didn't know it needed until I felt it. A blanket fresh out of the dryer in your arms. The smell of oatmeal raisin cookies baking. A cigarette after a big meal. All things that evoke the same energy as you. 

 

We are strangers now. The vivacity of your presence alien to me now. Do you still think of me?

 

What could I possibly say to you? After I took that warmth for granted. After I paralyzed, suspended that energy with my venomous tongue.

 

I miss you, and that should redeem me in some sense, right? You'd hate knowing I'm writing poetry about you. But still; 

 

I can't ever stop reminiscing about you.  

The Venture Capitalist's Dilemma

When I hit rock bottom, 

will I ever know?

 

A stubborn optimist, filled with luck, 

I was born a Sagittarius sun,

it's in my nature. 

 

Somehow I manage to land butter-side up,

in most situations. 

 

So chaotic, and undetermined, 

Once I decided to live for me, live free,

that's when I began to feel whole. 

 

"Work is the curse of the poor man," 

they say. 

 

And I'll never be poor in health or ethics,

since money shouldn't always dictate,

our wealth in character. 

 

Perhaps I'm ignorant, entitled,

Or maybe we're fed up.  

At my parent's house

I feel small here. 

At any moment I could dissipate into nothing, another memory smeared into the carpet, completely forgotten. 

 

Until now. Now you can't forget the stain.

It's familiar, but nostalgic of a different time. 

 

Was this a life I lived? Why do I feel so out of place? Did I ever belong here? 

Or am I just another stain on the carpet?  

Misc