A Thought for Stillness

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...So your heart stops beating, you get buried. Worms eat you. Their bodies use you as nutrients to maintain itself, thus you become many. You’ve become, a bunch of worms.

Okay, so the worms will eventually cease themselves, get eaten by birds, fish or rot away. Then you’ve become the soil or ocean bacteria. You’re still around. Where did the nonexistence part occur?

Maybe I’m being too literal. What if it’s meant in spirit? In that case you either go to hell or heaven right? Reincarnation? Aliens take your life energy back to their universe? You stay in limbo? But you continue to exist in this form.

What of consciousness? You move to the next dimension? The previous dimension? A higher plain of awareness? The all? Back to the unification of the global consciousness before collapsing down to a different perspective? This is all still happening, it’s not nonexistence. If it all plunges into darkness, then you exist in darkness. And whatever consciousness exists to perceive this darkness, or lack of the all, will project a universe within itself because perception still occurs...

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Fight It

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Each season comes with some reason.
Freezing to please the diseased isn’t pleasing.
The cease of pleas and pleads of deeds drops seeds of greed.
Fleets of fleas, armies with feats like cheats run the streets.
The weather withers whether we batter those that rather be bitter.
The heat of anger and the standard banter bank the slanted rant.
Chaos and madness face-off for status.
For control the dice rolls.
Loopholes on payrolls avoid truths told under no paid tolls.
Over the shoulder looks show the older hooks put there by the bold, the crook.
The boss places taste lost in costless fake tossed process, all nonsense.
Flimsy flattered finished frozen frosting finally falls free.
Eyes reject incoming lies and far information tries to reach and enlighten, make wise.
We rise and together avoid our demise disguised as a prize.

 

By Jack Thomas

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Drug Problems

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I feel trapped. A self-made prison cell, stuck in hell. An inferno composed of doubts and hopelessness.
A place of misery where all I know is my addiction. All I know is the itch is present and I have to scratch it. I can’t help myself, I can’t control myself. No one can pull me out of this place.
It’s torture. It feels like losing sanity. Losing logic and reason.
The people around me are slowly pushed away by my selfish behavior. I’m too weak to fight this desire, but I need my fix, I need it so bad. I can’t think without it, I can’t exist without it.
My hands are red, tired, beaten up. My fingers hurt. It’s killing me. My mind is breaking apart and I struggle to so much as define what’s real from what’s not.
But nothing else matters, no one matters, all I see, all I think of is this fix.
Desperation fuels me, gives me energy to search and fill the emptiness, kill off what’s left of me. The desperation fuels me to leave who I am written in stone. To bleed me onto solid rock, to draw the hieroglyphs of my psyche on any canvas for all eyes to see.
The ache that I’ll end up alone, lonely, and discarded from...

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Love

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It’s pleasant to not be alone in my bed.
Her heartbeat keeps me warm.
I’m clear minded and with purpose when I’m with her.
We lay there, pillow under my head, her head on my chest, and we wait.
No thought other than how her arm feels across my chest.
I can feel her smile, relax, be happy.
That’s enough for me.
That’s really all it takes.
If I can keep her this way, if she can be this person forever, and this moment never ends, it just keeps going and going… I’ll be happy.
I’ll be fine.
If I can find the formula and assure we stay like this, in this state, this mindset, I’ll know for sure I’ll be happy.
Only if she is.
Whatever it takes.
Is it love? Perhaps.
 

By Jack Thomas

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