Unsound

Forgive the exclusivity of my downfall,
so sullen and exact in its temperament,
this steady dejection outlasting the best of moods,
one turn of gaze and I wonder of things near and far,
the places they sprung from,
the places they will go to dwell,
I wonder if my destination should be tied to them steadfastly,
where would I be one day,
far from the mania I deem supreme,
away from the darkness that looms beyond the haze,
a swirl of inexorable woe so murky it mistifies.

I feel neither grounded nor heightened,
liberated nor imprisoned.
I wander in the field of dreams,
removed from reality,
if only for a moment.

Reverb

Separate from the shit at hand, know this:

There is no great escape at the end of your tunnel,
no immortal exit awaiting at the end of the journey.

There are sequential actions that come back around,
neither immediate nor temporary, they will creep,
they will bide their time until the moment calls,
when their dormancy ends and they activate,
and they will strike you in bright daylight,
and cut you open as mercilessly as you have done to others,
to me.

I cycle through what I cannot see,
left to piece together a puzzle that will not click,
it will not snap into place,
as life does not compartmentalize so easily,
and I am left broken.

Defeated by more than my worst enemy,
played for dead by a ghost I cannot see,
a grim reaper who has taken everything from me.

Yet, there are ways to come out from downstairs,
so many ways that I’m privvy to and you are not.
You will be marked.

Perfect Heaven Space

In my perfect heaven space, there’s a picture of you.
To think of all the time I’ve wasted not looking at you.
Answering the questions before it’s been asked.
The answer is in the question I hope you don’t ask.

In my perfect heaven space, there’s an answer for you.
And on my heart I wear a sleeve that you knitted for me,
and you just wanna pull that thread and unravel me,
answering the question before it’s been asked.
The answer is in the question I hope you don’t ask.
On my heart I wear a sleeve that you knitted for me.

In my perfect heaven space, there’s a memory of you.
To think of all the ghosts I’ve faced just remembering you.
Answering the question before it’s been asked.
The answers in the question I hope you don’t ask.

In my perfect heaven space, there’s an answer for you.

Perfect Heaven Space
Travis

Refitting

Perhaps one day, I’ll see things for what they are.

Neither past nor future will hinder this perspective.

My purview will be unaltered and unfiltered, near pristine in purity.

No longer will I see beyond reality and into the world of dreams.

Life has a way of reinforcing the perils and tribulations of this disposition.

These dreams, they haunt me by daylight,

rendering me irrational and insensible where convention is concerned.

I justify notions that would otherwise be deemed mad.

And yet, I defend this state of intention,

because to leave this place would mean that I’m one-dimensional,

no more than the rest of the singular mass.

I’ll stay here in between states of consciousness,

if it means a love that will nurture and protect.

Lustrous

I see you as the expanse between us shrinks and expands.
A definitive figure with broad features sharpened over many years,
certain in your heaviness of existence,
a solid mass of being residing in the shadow of moonlight,
deliberately concealed in the comfort of that immeasurable darkness,
a wish to be stumbled upon anywhere but under the sun.

I think of you under the brightness of my shine,
the way the lines crease around your glimmering eyes,
eyes bluer than the surface of the ocean at the point between noon and eventide,
eyes that behold me with such fervor and intensity,
such that Aphrodite herself would blush at first sight,
had she but remained squarely within your gaze for such a length of time.

I reside here across our mutual desire,
in the comfort of my own twilight,
of misty mornings that clear into afternoons so bright,
I think I’m going to go blind.
I think of you when I sit in the patio at summer’s end,
I see all of you in your commensurate darkness.

Who might you be, wanderer?
Have you come to challenge the roads I’ve forged?
Where does the depth of my heart and soul go,
if they don’t already reside in the life I’ve built?
What life is this, that would pivot so easily?
I wonder time and again of foolishness and hope in equal regard.