Implosm.

Let me fly away,

On wings of desperation

Away from all this.

Away from this guilty emptiness, this vacillating confusion.

These yellow-tinted memories of an undulating past, haunt

And beckon me,

Like Homer's temptresses, to fall into them.

And so, I escape away, into a phantasmagoria of colour and light.

A Floyd-esque paradise.

Where nothing is what it stands for, but what it is.

‘Isness’, rather than Representational.

Where nothing matters, except existing.

Where You and I can be free..

Distinct, yet alike; the same, yet different.

Where I am You, and You are me, but

Our identities are our own.

Where order breaks, and all that remains

Is a beatific, innocent chaos.

Where feeling and shades and hues and Objects

Meld and flow into each other,

Into one endless stream of thought-consciousness.

(To be differentiated from one another only when forced through

A Prism of narrowing ‘Reality’).

Where the sound of stillness fills, and surrounds Us,

And then softly, dies away.

Where the air is alive with a vivacious, violet intelligence.

And You and I gallop away, into an all forgiving, and all forgetting slumber…

…

I wake up, in the darkest recesses of my mind.

And I’m alone again.