Redactions.

Secrets inhibit freedom.

Without knowledge
we cannot make
informed decisions.

Truth need
not be comforting,
but it is necessary
for adaptation, vital
for survival.

You enslave
and endanger
us with your silence,

weaving
deceptions to fill
the vacuum,

to muddy the leaks,
fuel the ridicule.

Conspiracy breeding
further crime,
justifying its continuation.

Just as coverups
separate you from us,

and the disinformation
you spread separates
we, the people,
from each other,

compartmentalization
divides you,

and maybe
that’s what they wanted:

divided, conquered.

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Starving for Understanding.

Searching
through bootleg
memories

carried from times
long passed
(a long bag I’m dragging,
so fucking heavy),

skins formerly worn,
and at least
one world abandoned
in my prehistory,

embracing emotions denied,
analysis of tendencies,

then looking
at where I am
and who I seem to be,

striving to discern the patterns,
starving for understanding.

What am I hiding?

Why am I hiding
from myself?

Twitch.

An eye’s twitch.
Filled to the brim
with energy.
Swollen and aching,
this burning need
inside of me.

All this shallow thinking.
Weakened before this impulse.

Driven mad
by this relentless itch
I can’t seem to scratch
on my own.

Shameful imagery
infesting my mind.
Frustration, twisting.
Coercive body of mine.

If I could find a way,
develop a strategy.

If I found a window
and you would just
fucking let me…

All These Walls.

Fingers
turning white,
trembling,

tapping out,
curling back
one by one

until I’m no longer
on edge
but in descent

down a well
of agitation,
gnashing teeth,
claws out,

eager
to decorate
all these walls
in bloodstains,

empty myself,
cleanse myself,
lose myself,

regain
whatever is I lost.

Just breathe,
I beg myself.
Just endure

the walls
of this well-earned hell,
until you find
the courage to grow.

The Vacuum of Stolen Memory.

Mindful of a gap,
you stop,
turn around, look

back to retrace your steps,
reflect on the journey

only to find the shadow
cast by your soles,
is growing,
enshrouding everything,

swallowing the trail,
eating up sea and land
in the ever-increasing distance…

Not again.
This time you shall
salvage
what you can, grab

the pen
to scribble
down, chant
to yourself to remember

as you focus
with determination,
aggressive passion
on something, anything,
in the attempt to forge

a vivid
and powerful
psychological bookmark,
a trigger to defeat
this unethical seizure,
this mental cover-up,

all as the darkness
accelerates
towards the horizon,

leaving
you a big blank
nothing

all as the fear, agony and anger
swiftly rushes in to fill
that vacuum of stolen memory.

Of Eyes & Energy.

Bodily glows: a light,
alive within, ’round,
and between. Energies

mingling, dancing,
repelling, wrestling
and resonating. A sea

of subtle energy.
An existential canvas:
the swirling background
to everything, amplifying

in eyes that whisper,
cast emotion, imagery
through locked gaze:
an interface. Whirlpools
that draw
in minds passed the event
horizon, spaghettify

all doubt
in telepathic
communication.

They do it to me:
the unearthly.
I’ve done it
spontaneously.

There’s got to be a way
to discipline, to initiate,

to communicate
this way
at will.

Ambivalent to Need.

Reacting to the impulse
in two,
diametrically-opposing
fashions
with equal intensity:

desiring not to
desire this
desire that I thirst
for so aggressively.

Let me grow claws
to tear
this relentless urge
out of me

or find a suitable
her
that shares my kinks:

who’s inner light,
inner darkness
cares to play
with mine

as we both bleed
our mutual need.

Release Valve of the Soul.

Do nothing. Just keep saying
it to everyone:

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

It makes
you feel like you’re doing
something, right? So afraid
to impregnate reality

that you force
them to watch
you masturbate
to your dreams
through the telling.

Its all just psychological
displacement
of desires
you still fear
translating into action

through a verbal declaration
shared only
with social reality.

Feel the hiss
of the pressure:
a defeated sigh
from deep inside.

Diffuse it like a bomb.
It could have been your rocket
to a higher place,
another space.

Nurture the desire.
Dare to be silent,
to show before you tell.

Chart
your trajectory.
Make a map as a guide
from latency to actuality:

the true
release valve of the soul.