Concussive Happiness (and the other hemorrhages, āfriendsā)
A group of friends,
A gathering,
Overlapped
And away,
Persists
Where all know all
With,
āYou think you know me?ā
In the all too honest background.
An answer to the above ā
Our assumed empathy exists,
When truthfully
It truthfully eludes -
āYou think I know you?ā
āIā
Or rather the
āWeā in the āhereā
And ānowā -
A lesser form,
And not our truest,
Hides the ārealā and deep within.
Each has a pain,
Relatively at least
And perhaps our only concrete notion
Of who the āotherā is.
A non-biological truth
Founded upon
A shared organic ancestry
Where
The skeletons in the closet
Translate as -
Lacks of ambition,
Ambiguous futures (at best),
Swept away addictions
And tears in the night,
Torture.
We shed our daily frown,
For a fake smile,
A facsimile
And play for the pains we do not share.
Itās a place
Where the hidden words,
The bad words,
The blasphemous words
Slip -
āHelp me!ā
And just as quickly
Retract -
āNever mind.ā
We hide it deep
And hide it well,
Because itās when itās
Shared
That we become what we try to
Avoid -
Attached
And in fear of losing
Each other.
Thus remains ā
The perversion of perception.
As we hold to this
State of confused,
Or concussive,
Happiness.
And only later will we all cry,
As weāve all gone home
And alone.
