The abyss is an amazing thing to look at. You don’t know if it’s staring back at you, right in the eye. You don’t know if it is so close to you that you’re breathing what it breathes. You have no idea if it’s a world full of dancing colors and beautiful rains. Or whether it’s full of torture and pain and heartaches. The abyss is this. The violent. The calm and peace. The beauty. All that is unknown.
You move, you settle down further, with each little shake. Your knee gets comfortable under someone else’s. Your shoulder embraces another’s. Sometimes you borrow the headlines and use your glasses to see the printed letters. There could be hot cups of coffee and tea and oily snacks that smell nice. But you keep moving. You slowly melt into the crowd. The soft rocking and the lullaby weakens you. All you want to do is stay down and die a temporary peaceful death.
Oftentimes I wonder if someone zooms a camera in and out of my face. A strange feeling as though someone is watching my life as some entertaining movie. Now, they’re not watching out for me. They’re just there, watching. Your pain, your dreamy spasms, your heart beating, the smiles on the corners of your lips. Are they directing your movie too?
Black stars in my white sky.
Paint me a rainbow with the grays.
The Sun rises upside down
With black invisible rays.
Take out your silver parasol
And catch those rain-colored drops.
This black and white will keep us alive
Until the bleeding stops.
Let’s tie this ribbon of gravity around our necks and jump.
This bleak color is what life looks like.
Sometimes such a blur, that you need a reading glass.
Sometimes so crisp that your head aches.
This color, it never runs. Nor does it run out.
There might be the smell of roses watered with alcohol.
There might be just that thin sliver of shining silvery goodness up in the sky.
Stars hanging onto a million tiny dark hooks.
Clouds floating in smoke.
Sometimes the angels cry.
Sometimes the heartaches melt in that one rain.
But it’s summer almost everyday here.
Summer throughout the year, at times.
Even the needle sweats inside the clock to move.
But time passes.
It passes without questions or answers.
This bleak color will never disappear as long as there are doubts and questions.
You are the answer.
But you always, always, look only into that broken mirror.