Spiritual life

is empty, you'll find nothing --


Everything is there!

emptiness the void
of future fill it with your
imagination

of what's a house built,
tatami mats without
figures, ghosts within walls,
haunted by the absence
of anyone of substance who calls,
ozu, can you hear me? in
these rooms of noh occupants,
transients staying only a night,
staging a performance for no audience,
except me, turning slowly to dust,
late spring in tokyo twilight,
floating weeds in an empty house,
by a projector's light.

Anger at the top
Too much darkness
She is threatened by her own company
It presents demons only
Every part of her crying for something she can't offer

Voids that can't be filled
Leaving her empty

                                              




                      



    
                             ­                     .

every morning, it’s the same monotonous routine.
i’ll die and be buried in the soil.
perhaps someone may lay a coffin in the ground
in the shape of my emptiness,
the vast surface area of loneliness.
i’ve loved in spite of every distraction
in spite of every dying emotion
in my brain.
i have walked in hands of friendships just to feel some sense of relief
but all they’ve done is empty me.
i sit on my bed every night,
nothing changes except the length of my sighs
knowing fully i’ll never escape.
i can’t tell the ones i love,
they’ll worry for me,
and they need some happiness in their lives too.
i can’t tell friends, i shove them away,
wondering why people never choose to stay.
i’m erratic and sick of my own games:
to watch on the sidelines and never take part.
so sick of the routines,
all i want to do is donate my heart
to you.
take good care of it and water it and this proves i have no clue what to do with it.
please make it a home, with a hearth
and make it happy,
i’ve tried, but i’ll never bring it peace.
no matter how long i sleep
the same emptiness stays until i am it
and it is all me.
i’m packing my bags,
i’m moving upstate,
i ache to be someone you tolerate but don’t hate.
i can’t be someone else,
i’ll always be six feet underneath as you gaze upon me
and your eyes are so alive
and i love you,
i do,
what has this come to?
my frail body lying in a bed of dirt—
i’m dead before i hit the ground.
the same day all over
can i just lay with you
until night falls softly upon your pillow
and you call me a friend,
i’m someone to defend,
worth someone to you.
i keep the room quite tidy
tidy enough so the emptiness has a satisfactory space.
but you’re in the kitchen
and i’m hugging my knees
i’m scared i’ll die lonely
empty pews in the church,
with the emptiness clinging to my fraying shirt sleeves.
what have i become?
the same monotonous cycle
defining every aspect in my life.
i’ve loved till my heart was whimpering in pain,
and i’ve recorded every sound to revisit its anguish
and i’ve served every doubt till it’s wasted in a bar.
i’ve loved every human who stopped just to tell me that i was worth existing,
even just for a second,
i’ve loved myself more for every joke you’ve ever laughed at
i’ve loved every second with you in it
and i want you to have my heart
because you can do great things with it.
i know you can
because the emptiness feels fuller when you’re around
and it sits down in a swivel chair and it listens to you
and actually smiles.
i was revived every time you’ve said my name
even by mistake,
i was less lonely some days,
just replaying the sounds till my cheeks hurt
and you’ll never know,
but just keep my heart warm.
keep it by the fire.
keep it by yourself
and
it’s certain to be safe.