Pause then…

but you are the universe
aren’t you,
claiming creation and beauty,
perfection even in inexplicable asymmetry,
the culmination of the gross and the sublime
into the one truth,
yet your addiction to the dark,
to destruction, to endings,
drunk on your own fire,
tell me how you explain this to your friends,
what cotton candy horrors are your dreams made of,
is that why you can never find stillness,
here, try inhaling your own sunrises,
there are moments watching you
I can forget you are there,
forget that you matter,
pause then, sit cross legged and close your eyes,
let go of me,
for a while, let me not exist.

31 thoughts on “Pause then…

  1. Not the first to ask such questions (though they must rarely be phrased so beautifully). But I don’t know that answers are ever vouchsafed.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. If you forget the universe is there or matters haven’t you fulfilled the request you make of the universe since you are part of the universe? I enjoyed reading it. It got me thinking.


  3. Your poem echoes bipolarism or some kind of addiction, especially in the lines:
    ‘perfection even in inexplicable asymmetry’
    and ,
    ‘…addiction to the dark,
    to destruction, to endings,
    drunk on your own fire’
    II love the phrase: ‘try inhaling your own sunrises’,

    Liked by 1 person

      1. The things is, our original thoughts develop, grow a pair of wings and fly off to be interpreted by readers, who have their own original thoughts. It’s a bonus when the two soar together!

        Liked by 1 person

  4. “what cotton candy horrors are your dreams made of,”
    Although I know the sweetness of cotton candy this image by its paradox took me straight to cobwebs and dilapidation

    much love…


  5. Reading this poem, can’t help but think, you’re writing about an abusive partner, in a relationship. In the pov of a survivor, has managed to escape it, and is now in the process of healing themselves.


  6. “…what cotton candy horrors are your dreams made of”, I shall spend all day delighting in this gem of a line. Love it! The contrast between the sweetness of the image and the near disdain of the tone is quite fantastic.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. A rondo of alternating observations or selves, perhaps in a mirror, perhaps of a beloved Other who is so close s/he/it may be the ghost of self or Other or both. A strange inbreathing outbreathing litany.

    Liked by 1 person

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