Flux short poem

Photo by Erik Charlton

Melancholy doesn’t leave
it settles in
paints the world grey
and yes it’s a beautiful monochrome
but sometimes even sight
becomes lachrymose,
then tone is known
as just a piece of soul
in a different pitch,
life seems loud
and repetitive,
the mind tunes out;
in the itch for nothingness
we grab the nearest pacifier
buried alive in living,
all the wrong thoughts
but they persist
and it’s too easy,
lethargy is
so much like the womb
and who was it
that spurred the day,
who told the lights to turn on
I remember vivacity,
the roots of innocence
grew far too many branches;
I’m stuck in the tumult,
riveted to the sway

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Chris Cowan

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Currently attending California Institute of the Arts for acting. I'm an actor, poet, pianist, film composer, editor, director, screenwriter. I hope you enjoy.
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Fixed Flux

Fixed Flux short poem

Looking beyond the window I always wanted to shut my eyes. No sky could hold my head. I didn’t want to see the innocent smiles vanishing from the moulded faith. The smell of burning leaves wafts through the catacomb of