Wishes wistfully swaying, singing

Like children, cheering, cacophony

Like elders looking down on us, enticing

Waiting for when we least expect anything

Then lurching from the darkness to restore:

Like a check in the mail, a lost friend checking in

Or anything good that happens time and time again

A positive swirl in the (sometimes) otherwise bleak world

A fresh perspective, an excitability for life

A vacation, a good dream

Happiness, blatantly

the words can come mentally, easily, fleetingly – floating, waiting, processing, conjuring, to be possessed, when suddenly
pen to paper, rigged, wretched mind betrays slowing, thoughts halt, hammering, stammering, sto—
some thoughts pop up instead – something about the political landscape, some introversive insecurity, words in a line that don’t make coherent sense, deadened, blackened — ugh

-n.v.

Seas of sorrow

ebb and flow

putrid stench of

Hatred

Yet we believe…

Somehow a sad face

realer than a happy one?

Happiness, a farce;

an illusion of the mind?

Cultured to be subdued

disengaged or eschew?

Yet we see panhandlers

abroad, viscerally sad,

broken

believed to be fakes

cheaters of the system

standing on the median

broken

– n.v.

For why is suicide such a grievous wound?

A human, entity of autonomy and rationality, built upon by themselves and by others, created from foundation to expiration, has chosen to undo what has been done. To destroy the creation in despite of itself in disregard to themselves and all of the other contributors to their autonomy and rationality. They’ve chosen a blank slate rather than the one with etchings all over. And this – this, is the real no-bullshit sadness that comes with suicide – to think that emptiness prevailed. To think that, despite the inherent humanly flaws of everyone, the little etchings weren’t worth it after all. That, somehow, the mind had convinced the raw bodily baggage to finally concede. That, the semblances of memory and shared experience we call life, was not greater, in a moment, than the alternative. The evil multi-armed demon of depression had deleted another idol of nostalgia. The sad, secret, sinister voice inside manifested and eviscerated the exterior.

 

(img cred: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/537265430540843421/)

 

– n.v.

cognitive
d i s s o n a n c e
plays the role of
m e s s e n g e r
ignorant and spiteful
toward the recipient of its
t r a v e l s
the peculiar
f a s h i o n
it walks
a i m l e s s l y
toward the recipient of its
ignorant and spiteful
t r a v e l s

- n.v.

Advocating any and all
believed biblical benignity
conglomerates cataclysmic conformity;
daring deranged and dogmatic
evangelicals to extrapolate exorcism
for their feared Father.

Gleefully grasping the grandeur
holism of Heavenly hopes
invigorates irate and irreconcilable
jabbering of jibberish jeers.

Knowledge is kindly kindling,
lingering and lofting in liberalists’
mere mentality, mastering
the notoriously nimble nihilism of
the “omnipotent” opposition or otherwise
playfully poking pedantic
quintessences of quirks, quickly
and rather rigorously reforming
simple and shameful “sinners.”

Treacherously, truth tantalizes and
usually unequivocally unties
vivacious valleys of vacuous
wishes which wistfully
xerox xeric Xanax
yanking youthful “yesterdays”
and zealously zapping zoilism.

- n.v.

So, one day I was talking to my brother and thinking about how shitty religion is. I wanted to write a poem that was an A-Z alliteration denouncing it. I sat down and wrote this. T-Z gets a little wonky.

learning every day to be perfect,
learning every day their virtues,
advice-given morals not lessons,
weaken the value; the mind lessens.
following these blind rules to pursue
a “faithful” lifestyle, not to be true
sitting in their perch, they sit still,
against everything: fight genetics, kill free will,
obstinate and stagnant, they reprieve,
depressed and anxious, they believe

-n.v.