Dreadful thoughts and solicitude for my destiny.
The brisk night that embodies my consternation.
Desperate pleading for a lucid legacy.
My thoughts volatility plays dance with my sanity.
Fears entrenched from stretches of cerebration.
Dreadful thoughts and solicitude for my destiny.
Anxieties ravenous for my soul with eager intensity.
Fleeting passion after years of exhalation.
Desperate pleading for a lucid legacy.
Feeling confined when I’m told I’m comfy.
Cement people tell me it’s time for celebration.
Dreadful thoughts and solicitude for my destiny.
I shout and struggle away from conformity,
Weathered hands reach out in desperation.
Desperate pleading for a lucid legacy.
Cement people grab me and wail that I come back to conformity.
Cement people contradict and plead to me live without contrition.
Dreadful thoughts and solicitude for my destiny.
Desperate pleading for a lucid legacy.
About the Creator
Tyler Simpson
I write for myself here, but you’re welcome to join me.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar5 days ago in Feast
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