Ghost of Earth ©

The Future is Goulash

April 30, 2017 Poems, Word, Writing

I.

The future

is goulash.

I am scared.

My father
had an affair
with my luck
last night,

and I cried myself
to sleep
letting crooked
purity touch me.

II.

This secret
is empty;
is a crutch;
is feared reality.

I miss my soul
and the memory
of feeling broken
and drunk with innocence.

I built my walls
with selfish thoughts;
with the grief of a child.

III.

Mistaken to think
that the
shredding of a
fucked teenager
would wash
clean
a serious absence
or a burning denial.

 

 

 

IV.

We don’t die.

We only hang from
another perspective.

Motivated by
our realizations
and disorders
we call our hours
profound,
when really
they are just
background magic.

V.

When in doubt
turn to
37.

Remember your forecast
while the moon
is in Taurus.

The resolution
is the collapse
of a clouded dismay.

Don’t doubt –
the math is right.

He taught me
how to count
on me.

VI.

Becoming
is a habit
that shared
something.

Stale wellness
and a need
to write,
are more than
enough.

Dying answers
in a collage of retrospect.
are the only God;
an art to practice in.

VII.

To swim
in the
deadening madness
that is
an animal
self consciousness,

I smoked opium
and began
crawling out of
my perspective

made plans
to reason
with the creature.

Showed it my veins
with minimal ambition
and we both
began grieving
our true form.

IIIV.

Skin
should feel less
like a sacrifice
for intellect.

The outcasting
of a consciousness
is not a medium
is not an art form
but more a mutilation
formed for us to look at.

 

 


IX.

There is such grace
in promises,

but in being
only
halfway reliable
I find a marriage.

 

 

 

 

 


The Future is Goulash is a series of poems written as biographical compilations of my first 9 journals, created throughout adolescence (beginning as early as 11 years old). The words used in each poem are words and phrases found scattered within the journals.

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