Sometimes I hate when I’m supposed to love.
I stare off into cluttered windows watching the eyes of my heart
dilate into fragments of distance
loudly shattering in the destination of this world unhealed.
Those are the times I am numb when I’m supposed to feel
holding on to pain I didn’t even know I held in my mind;
trying so hard to leave it all behind
I throw fists at the image of my own soul
because It becomes hard to understand
and hard to withstand
the blurred images that I hear, the sounds
locked inside a vision with no secured meaning;
locked away anger
unrecognizable to the confusion of inner delusion
blind to the fear that haunts this illusion
of a life lived on the open paths of unemotional fusion.
And I can’t hide from this enigma
that takes over my body and controls the dark aspects
that infects, affects, effects
everything I have believed in as clarity.
Because behind these eyes; these spirals
of mystery is an outcast words have never heard;
a language with many translations acquired
through the years of turmoil and distinguished relations.
There is an aroma polluting every breath of air
with a fragrance that only covers up the stench
without barricading the smell of a skin
threaded by the definition of who I am on the outside.
Sometimes I fall when I’m supposed to rise
floating downward into an open ground
of the familiar
afraid to look up, afraid to reach out, afraid to stand
because on the inside
Tarringo T. Vaughan