#madnessindivinity

[madnessindivinity]

Divine Duality

Winding colors in the wind

With the eternal sage of life etched in

Nestled in its wrinkles, a wisdom so divine

Spewing spiraled roots from the garden of time

Heads framed in an absurd portrait of eyes

Questions and answers both held by luminous figures

Tangled in opposing creatures of judgement

Huddled in the poison of one's own mind

Past, present, and future

Spirits spinning the wheel of fortune

With eight blades struck through the temple, to pry

I sip the golden chalice as I cry

Tasting saltwater

Digesting the sustenance I seek

Delayed is the universe to speak, in clarity

I accept the forbidden flowers, the rotten gems

I accept the light that shines on my dark flaws and wicked hymns

I accept the hole in the sweater I bear

And the neurotic limbs under the smile I wear

For my soul never ceases

The search for the divine within

- 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝐿𝒶𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒

[madnessindivinity]

Wounds of a Seamstress

I feel in me a wound lined with thorns

This wound I carved myself in your memory

Protruding dreams have torn it at the seams

In this wound is a craze only I feel fit

It lays so softly beneath my chest

I rest, only to feel it in my sleep

A steep, creaky staircase to the land of make-believe

Amaranth and dahlias coated in cigarette and stardust

I will be found here exposing my wound to the sun

Talking to the void in the sky, looking for a guide

Crying because I'm the only one here

I hold a flame to my tired heart

Singeing it slowly, as if I were waking a beast

It aches with bruises of cowboy boots and radium scars

Deteriorating, leeches feast on me

Imploring to be free of the cycle, I must be through weaving baskets of you

That hold nothing but a vague picture of infatuation

Still I'm tweezing reflective shards from my bosom of what could have been, be sorting with ancient bliss and purity

The mirror of what is-- finally broke inside of me

- 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝐿𝒶𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒

[madnessindivinity]

On duality and fear

It seems as though I am afraid of everything and it's opposite -- just as I am everything and it's opposite. Perhaps I should write up a listen of each polar and choose between them... but the issue is consciously picking the same one every day. Repetitively choosing the same side of something every day feels like a death sentence; even if it's good for me, it still kills a part of me. Maybe these parts need to die...but again -- I have died a thousand times and I am still everything and it's opposite.

- Divinity

[madnessindivinity]

prism drawing is by a local stranger, Bret. It reminded me of a poem I wrote that's in my upcoming book.

Belle De Nuit/Cherub Desires

Beloved in pastime

In the presence of reality, we dream

Of burdened songs and wicked weather

Sought beneath blankets with holding the fire 

As a ragged traveler, I've written lines that are now crossed and faded

Within series of desires that now sit in their own dust 

Flashing a film of a wilting rose sharpening itself in solitude

Tapered in a projecting sky, we've set the moon out to dry

Dripping it's light down my face and morphine between my thighs

A porcelain figure of me on a pedestal, stoic and cracked

With a dagger through the center, she shatters

Caking black cherry on her lips, all bitten

Leaving trails, in which she trips over her own reflection 

Death binds the book where love was written

She gnaws on every page between it's worn leather

I hear the thorn squeak between the gaps of her teeth

It sounds like it's screaming…

The book was better than the movie

Now that I've contradicted myself to the cusp

Of everything and it's opposite

I'll crumple the reel, and bury it sweetly to rest

- 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝐿𝒶𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒



[madnessindivinity]

Sometimes I get so lost in my own fantasies that I can't see the person next to me or hear the music in my own ears

[madnessindivinity]

Within the dark days I dreamt

Of the pollution of light, a canopy over my head

My consciousness slipping through the sidewalk cracks

Leaking like grief from the soles of my feet

In an instant

My plot of not being seen is made true by my walk in a city

Untold of my journey

Placing a hold on my creative flow