The Flood

Drip, drop.
Each drop
falls, carrying in
it a glimmer.
Bloop. Splash.

Little rivers cut through
the grass, drowning
the Earth. From over-
saturation she suffers.

The water corrodes Her face,
and sweeps away the hints and markings
of a previous place.

How is one to move forth
with his path washed away?

Holes in my Face

An admittedly obsessed people watcher, I see all the things, little and major, in which people do. Their interactions. Their acts of kindness, spite, aggression, etc. My piercings, though certainly not as excessive as some, have proved to be my own sort of social experiment. I catch looks in walking past, their eyes linger upon the metal strung through my face. I catch a mother, a professor, a student, in the act and they guiltily look away. Shame is not what follows, but amusement. In a society where it is so aggressively pushed that judgment is not to be passed, I find humor in said lie. I watch as their eyes lock in mine when conversing, and then inadvertently falling upon each metal protuberance.
"When I first saw you, I definitely thought you would be...different"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know," she said, pausing uncomfortably, "just, different."

Springtime Revery

As I walk, one foot placed after another,
thoughts stroll through my mind.
Some are quite helpful, daresay progressive.
Others benign.

Maybe a rose is just a rose.
Perhaps we have thought too much of the latter,
finding meaning where meaning is not.
When, in fact, this meaning doesn't much matter.

Through together all such propositions
theories and analysies,
and abandon them with
a confiedent ease.

Enjoy that which surrounds you.
And find pleasure where "meaning" once laid.

The Yellow Color of Depression

Sunshine rains down from the blue.
It dances, sparkles, glistens, in
reflections made upon puddles,
windows and eyes.

Oh, the science of happiness.
Oh, marvelous sunshine!

Yet, time has past and
gone stale in prolonged
stagnation.

Brown spots amidst the grass.
The glorious puddles--
not themselves. Even
the eyes have lost their shine.

I, have lost my shine.
My 60% is quickly evaporating.

The Sound of Incrimination

With eyes fixated
upon the white walls of
derangement,

A switch was switched in alleged secrecy, but
secrecy it was
not.

The sounds, from which there could be no escape,
resounded within the walls.
Bouncing, reverberating, echoing,
from white to white to white to white.

From without all would appear well.
From within, a mind was sure to be lost.

An Idealistic Ideology

Once it was called perfection.
But time has worked Her magic
and defaced the glow.

Now three steps behind,
only the word why
lingers on my mind.

Second-hand Revelation

"Ugh, do you smell that? It smells like a cigarette." She said thrusting her nose into the air.

As I heard her say this I looked all around me. Sure enough there he was, puffing away, thoroughly enjoying his early-morning cigarette. Neither the smoke nor the fact that he was smoking bothered me. I couldn't help but notice the looks other people were giving him, however. Observers seemed to gaze right through him, pretending with all their might that he wasn't there, almost as if he was not worth seeing. Others shot him a look of blatant disgust.

Everyone seemed to be judging him. Even the guy whose love for alcohol had caused a rift in his relationship with his liver--his one and only. Even the girl who carelessly slept through yesterday's class. A class she paid $927 to attend. Even the gentleman who forced his one-night-stand of a girlfriend to have an abortion. Even the vegan. And especially the daughter who lost her mother to just one cigarette too many. Each set of eyes seemed to pass judgment upon this poor soul, despite the arguably controversial they themselves had made. The happy-go-lucky thought of a world where one can follow their own path without being pelted by stones popped into my head. Then came the thought of free will. I laughed to myself. Oh, the irony!

So, feeling bad for the poor guy, I decided to ask him for a cigarette. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would make him feel better about his own decisions.

"Hey man, could I bum a cigarette?"
"For you? No," he said laughing. As he walked away, he looked back at me with a look of pity.

On the Topic of Future Posts

I felt as though it may be necessary to discuss, briefly, my intentions with regards to posts from this point onward; my posts will have origins in the things that I see, experience, or discuss with others. Things that interest me. Disgust me. Amuse me. I hope to post at least 2-3 a week. I'll try my best to keep it original, interesting, and, of course, concise.

My posts may sometimes be direct observations, or made into some sort of story. Regardless, they are written in such a way as to stimulate conversation/debate/dialogue. Feel free to comment! :)

Harrison Lee