sober

[ACTIVATE SELF]

Originally Posted by Eŋg

the mind stops.
we confuse stasis for backwards movement,

Do "we", Eng? Do "we" really?

i've got unused basics. acting prudent
but these fundamentals are built on shaky terrain
- whose falling? truth calling,
does her gentle lilt ache me again,
or chase in the vein a beat that resounds
of a feeling i've floundered to forget.
tell me how your pulse speaks
and its pound you reject?

The imagery is so jumbled up, disjointed and discombobulated. Like a drunken mind trying to make sense of the world. And .... somehow this works.

now it's false speech as the sound you respect.
white-knuckle grip bound around your neck, shit.

I think the inclusion of the word "bound" is unnecessary and makes the line that contains it read a tad clunky.

my trouble is you still don't have to accept it.
but i'm choking, too.
broken; knowing enough
to have this sobering overview
where hope isn't holding you up.
suppress all the pain till the notion erupts,
you find a good fit from the moulds that are cut:
the caskets, the cradles, cold are their touch.
serpent-mouth sews itself shut.
skin shed, instead: change is the nobler of loves
for oneself.

This section gave me pause. I had questions about what somethings were striving to say. But then ... I meditated on their possible intent and formulated my own interpretations. The end result: I dug it.

yet we talk about the colour of whose lives matter,
…aren't we all made up of matter?

Dismissive and willfully aloof. But also clever, intuitive and scientifically correct.

as if we can’t shatter the illusion
in the hues of our skin and realise that we are kin
bound by the movement of the same fluid through our limbs.
that colour's blood-red,
over colour blood sheds,
o brother! undead we live life defining
ourselves by divisive lines on
maps ancestors drew -- for people we never knew,
so sever truth
if you’re not willing to serve what’s right.
i mean... we’re all living imperfect lives,
yea we struggle, but is there purpose in our plight,
would Sisyphus know what the burden’s like?!
in a word – he might. It’s absurd I write all of this,
performing more for myself than I do my audience.
there’s a voice that observes, sometimes I’m absorbed with it,
plucking all my past experiences and it’s auditing,
am I sincere or in fear; real or fraudulent?
does my shrinking ego recoil at the thought of it?
If solely obsessed with appearances,
what self-love is there for the core within your ripe heart?
the mind starts.

^This was all bravo worthy text. You went in. I loved the introspection, questions raised, philosophy employed and vulnerability you wrote with.

Nice read amigo.