orionatus

[orionatus]

07/29/23 (2)

In Spring, when pollen drizzles as rain, and the sun drenches the earth In Summer, when the air sticks to you, and you breathe it in as tar In Autumn, when the ground paints a story, told in leaves In Winter, when all you see is white, leaving such a bitter feeling In Spring, when bees frolic betwixt swaying flowers In Summer, when newborns sprawl to their senses In Autumn, when the leaves and the wind play together so childishly In Winter, when everything slowly creeps to a quiet stop In Spring, when birds chirp a melody one couldn't possibly understand In Summer, when bugs march in chant to form a choir In Autumn, when the wind howls a brilliant harmony In Winter, when the song meets its peaceful end How lucky it is for one to be alive For one to experience such wonder The year is a song, a dance, a painting And how lucky it is to live life as such art

[orionatus]

07/29/23 (1)

How wonderous it is To be among bugs Not as a bug But as myself That is, as a living thing Among other living things I may, in reality, be no different from a bug But only as a bug is no different from me Two living things Being alive How wonderous is that?

[orionatus]

07/28/23

The spring water flows Even though it is summer What even is a spring? Strange, yet still it flows A bird skips around the edge And simply flies away As birds often like to do Yet still I wonder, Where will this bird go? Will it fly east, A little summer fling? Will it see a summer, Even when it is spring?

[orionatus]

07/27/23

I need to write more than I am But it's so impossible Such a simple task Yet even so I need to write more beautifully More pretty More thematically More thoughtfully And yet... And yet what? What is it that I write? If I were to first list off What It is my writing isn't I feel as though I would have nothing left. Every time I write I cross another item off the list Slowly dwindling the numbers down So why write? Lest my writing be nothing Nothing at all And yet, then, my writing Well My writing would be nothing As in, I would be writing nothing So I must write Lest my writing be nothing Nothing at all

[orionatus]

07/26/23

My bed is made for two Enough room to writhe Just me and you To plow the fields with a scythe As if my bed a farm And I the farmer Although my farm lay empty And I lay a foreigner Going further and further A harbor, departure My bed is made for one With enough room to run for miles To swim in an ocean of cloth To make ship and sail With continents and islands Empty counties, empty fields How lonely.

[orionatus]

07/19/23

Most times I am on The outside Of my body Where I can feel The air On my skin Where every movement That I make Is mine I do not control My muscles nor my limbs In this state I simply just move But sometimes I am on The inside Of my body Where I do not Move myself I move something And that thing Moves myself What I feel is not What I actually feel It is someone telling me That I am supposed to feel some way In this state My skin Once a part of me Is now my prison And I cannot tell If it is here to protect Or to strangle Either way I cannot breathe

[orionatus]

07/08/23

I am a lover Of people, of places, of sounds, of feelings Deep down, I am a lover And I love being alive Of being here, right now, with myself How lucky am I to experience such Simple Pleasures How wonderful is it that I get to wake up every morning And feel the sun on my face I love warmth, the kind that heats your body And the kind you feel from another person How lucky am I to live in a world filled with people? How wonderful is it that I get to be here That I get to enjoy That I get to love That I get to care I am a lover And how wonderful is it that I may choose to love at all?

Bullshit.

[orionatus]

07/07/23

You stick out in my mind as a brilliant hole A blazing scorch mark Leaving soot everywhere you touched You were a torch You were a geiser Spitting out your insides into my every corner My every crevice, nook, cranny, pore, or gash Without ever thinking twice if you might burn me And burn you did Yet still I wear these burns as clothes Tattered and riddled with holes Covering nothing but the most primal of aspects Just the way you wanted me The way you sculpted me Was I your art? Was I some painstaking labor for you? I think I now know what you meant When you said I was chore, a bother When you said you loved me In the same voice you said you hated me I think I now know what you meant When you said you were thoughtful Maybe you did think twice And yet you still chose to ruin me In your own image

[orionatus]

07/05/23

I have a deep burning within me It lives inside my brain A yearning I must subdue For this fire is frightening How do I leave my comfort? How do I move these bones? My mind is a prison here Keeping me chained to a throne And as time seeps from my pores As my every orifice screams All I can do is watch In this awfully assuaging agony Of course I’m not really trapped I can leave, I am free But the screams sound like such sweet music When it is so much harder To get them to leave

[orionatus]

06/18/23

And there I was Dancing in the dark Phone clutched in hand Blasting pale music All by my lonesome My body thrashes My limbs follow suit And the music stops The song ends And there I was Crying in the dark Hunched over the ground Hands grasping the floor Thunder roaring outside The rain muffled my cries So I cried louder Still no one heard me And there I was Alone in the dark So very alone

[orionatus]

06/01/23 (2)

I hope I don’t look back on these days fondly  That might seem confusing at first but The pain, the strife, the bland God, the bland, the boring boring boring boring The fucking miserably boring I hope I don’t remember these days fondly  The friends that take my facade at face value The friends that assume because they don’t care to ask The friends that don’t fucking know me I hope I don’t remember these days fondly  If I even remember these days at all If my memory doesn’t stain itself with more black ink marked REDACTED Will my mind mark these memories  REDACTED? I will not remember these days fondly For there are vastly better days to come I will make it happen I don’t know how I will But I cannot afford anything different 

[orionatus]

06/01/23 (1)

Halfpast noon into a gaping maw Half a life snuffed out Halfway through your lawn Half a page torn out Half pruned, a handful of bad calls Half a brain in doubt  Halfwitted dullards making laws Half a crowd cried out Half another year gone by With nothing to show for it With words barely making sense With fears slowly creeping in With dread on the back of my neck With a pit in my stomach With a lump in my throat With nothing to show for it Nothing to show for it 18 years gone by And I’ve nothing to show for it.

[orionatus]

05/25/23

If a flower wilts Without a living thing to see it Is it really dying? Or is it suspended in time At the last moment another met it’s gaze? I feel as though I am a flower Wilting in a summer’s breeze Death birds chirp their gruesome music Softly putting me at ease If I were to die today Would I really be dead? Or would I be suspended in time At the last moment I was in your head?

[orionatus]

05/16/23

A coconut falls onto a sandy beach A thud, grains and straws Whispy cult following Of white water milk

Down a crack All the bugs in joy A hip hip horray As the inside is festering With the eggs they lay

Now after a while A squirm, a wiggle, another wiggle Maggots crawl In white sludge The coconut beetle has begun

[orionatus]

05/15/23

Nothing feels real Or at least That's how I feel

Everything is so distant And muted I'm all fuzzy, a blur

It's all fake I'm living in the past It sorta feels like that

Nothing is real What I touch, is not there What I see, is a smear What I taste, has no flavor What I smell, is nothing What I hear, has no depth

It feels like I'm dreaming But if that is the case Then I am surely in a nightmare

[orionatus]

05/03/23 (haikus)

What makes a haiku? A pair of 5 syllables, With seven between.

'Tis sir Lancelot A DJ of the Dark Age With sound, he's a mage

[orionatus]

Magnum Opus (04/25/23)

Sometimes when we would look at the sky You would say that all you could see were stars And as curious as you are, you would wonder How many stars were in the sky So you'd start counting

Sometimes when you would look at the sky I'd say that all I could see were stars But, of course, I wasn't looking at the sky I was wondering just how many stars were caught in your eyes And just as you did, i started counting

Sometimes I wonder if we were counting the same stars

I remember the night I fell in love with you We were sitting on that old couch in the garage Staring at the ceiling You said that you wished there were stars And I saw you get the idea So we walked to the store

I remember we bought gold paint Because the ceiling was already white And you thought gold was far prettier We spent the rest of the night painting golden constellations

I still stare at that ceiling And as I explore our made up constellations I am forced to remember how beauty was painted on your face as gold And I wonder Do you still think of me as I think of you? And I wonder Did you ever realize that while you counted every star in the sky I counted every pore on your face Because I wanted your image to burn a brighter hole in my mind Than any star in the entire sky ever could