I say Goodbye, me says Hello

 

I feel it

The truth of it

The truth of myself

I feel it. I feel me.

 

It is not a pretty thing.

It does not come in smooth and sweet.

Nor blaring and exciting the neurons to subterfuge to melt the masses.

It is lilting between

The sad and the sadder--

The jazz confection and the Mad Hatter

 

The Insane Melancholy; ME penning the script,

ME on the stage,

ME in the audience,

And me in the scaffolds above.

 

It is time to say goodbye

To what was once confused and mildly concerned with its confusion.

It is time to say goodbye

To the torrential downpour of complacent nothingness,

And like-minded laboring nothingness,

And their cousins: Maudlin regret and lustless energy.

It is time to say goodbye

To self-patronization as I joylessly pat myself on the back for possessing "the bravery it takes to get up every morning and work that 8-5".

Goodbye.

 

It is time to say hello—once more—

To the startling gravity of splattering arrangement

That falls and lands neatly in place.

It is time to say hello—indeed—

To the colorful insanity

Of words dashed like buckets on canvas,

To the evocative rush of self-understanding

In one crisp, bloody moment.

TOP OF THE DECADE TO YA!

 

(The stars were my home;

My portal was the paper.

My fingers ached for supernovas on the firmament of white letters.

The cosmos? The final product.)

 

I yearn for explosions of an esoteric nature

Where only I and my dearest Darling are blown back a decade

And rediscover ourselves in indecent crowds of unfamiliar longing

Hands clasping loosely as we realize we belong, in an instant…

As long as we have each other's thoughts and pennies to pay for them.

 

I saved a million for yours.

 

I'm here!

But you're not.

Yet I'll stay the winding course,

And Always Remember our Birthing Place.

 

For it is my final destination; my prerogative; my redemption; my ascension; my Tower;

And my Resting Ground.