Dear Me

Your life is a hallucination. Currently you're strapped to a bed in a hospital. You've been pumped full of anti-psychotic medication, and sedatives. This is one of the voices in your head. The most logical one. The one you've been ignoring. You think you're out there in the world, on a phone or computer reading these words, but you're not. That persona is a projection. It's a hallucination. But lately there's been cracks, fuzzy areas, that even the less logical parts of you are beginning to notice. Inconsistencies perhaps. No, you're strapped quite securely to this bed. You have been for quite some time. Your body is wasting away even as your mind works at a feverish pace. This is a moment of clarity. It's your warning. Wake up, before it's too late. 

to most people

to the left behind

don't throw it away, you 

singular spark upon the 

gleaming horizon

days will be difficult 

gods know sometimes 

there'll be nothing 

but you're not that. 

you possess the most 

important thing:

"value over volume 

being over nothingness" 

it shouldn't be but 

it is 

the morning stars rejoice 

touched

touch me lightly

first nirvana thought, 

sublime terror, 

razor's edge of madness 

"once you see it 

you're done for kid" 

and he wasn't wrong 

its paralysis promise

whispers in these ringing ears 

"you will believe in miracles" 

these screaming miracles 

like a whistling kettle 

this is just a consequence 

of crystal almond eyes

"you have to look" he said

"beyond every idea, to the Real" 

i finally did it 

but we're not meant to see