a poem by Naroé
They say the devil’s in the details or maybe it was god or maybe I just hate detail oriented people. I’m not too sure and I’m not too sure I care either. If the Buddhists are right and god is in everything or if the Catholics are right and I’m going to straight to hell (I stole candy from a blind man once haven’t we all) well , there’s not much to it either way. I can see myself meeting the devil. Don’t be sad for me. I see you there sighing under your breath. You. Are. Projecting. Sympathizing. Sympathizing as if that were even possible in this godforsaken world. This godforsaken world. This godforsaken.
Where are You anymore? God? On the corner of first and Amistad? Hah see that fucking pop culture reference when I should be looking for You. I can’t see the details I can’t see the trees for the forest and it is so beautiful. You are not here. Or maybe You just aren’t. Maybe You are just a hole that was left in my chest by, I don’t know , by the fuckin’ commies. Heaven knows this country’s always blaming everything on them (and what am I but a product of my surroundings).
I never wanted to feel sad. But there is a certain exquisiteness. There are small sharp pinpricks that caress, that linger, that fade into the sting behind your eyes. And , you know , your body always accepts it more easily than you do. You hold your breath fighting that saltiness but eventually the sweet sweet H2fuckingO spills down your face and all you can feel is the slickness on your cheeks. And your body heaves its long awaited rasping breath your lungs can’t get enough oxygen.
I mean , yes ,
happiness is nice too
(yes , the happiness that comes from our commercially driven drivel , our McDonalds playgrounds littered with happy meals , our Southern Silk need to be touched and touched and sexed)
but there is nothing like the deep soul crushing feel-it-in-your-bones heaviness that comes with sadness.
Real sadness I mean.
I forget to run from it
I feed it sometimes. And boy , doesn’t it feel good.
My eyesight’s not 20/20 I’ve never been good at sweating the small stuff , man. I never wanted to be (that’s what I tell myself anyways). I wanted the foolish fucking prince to slay the fucking dragon I wanted my departure from mortality immortalized I wanted to duel the damned firstborn for the desperate peasants I wanted to lead deadly armies I wanted to revive the dead that didn’t deserve to die.
I wanted to look at You.
I wanted to look upon Your countenance delight
in Your presence.
I would have cowered before You!
You said Your kingdom was at hand but I can only see the multitude of trees.
I can only see the forest and whether You are god or the devil I can’t see you.