The Names

Yes

I am escaping from myself

I am escaping deep and wide

far away and into the darkest oceans

I am looking for you

but I do not want to find you

I am looking for something

something special

The part

Where I simply look for the unfound amuses me

That is the fun part

No

I do not want to find you

I do not want to find what I'm looking for

What I am looking for is lost

That is what I should believe

I should keep searching

I should keep consuming more of myself into ashes

I should believe

And I should Crystallize

What a Neurosis

Yes writers are insane

I am one Mr. Freud

I now owe you the adjective

and sanity shall indeed be leaving the scene

I am somewhere different

somewhere unseen

unexperienced

unknown

unvisited

unlost

so many uncast shadows

today it's about all the un's

the lies we hold ourselves with

shape and charade

we look for something

not want to find it

looking itself is a process

finding is an event

you can't keep finding

when you find it

the game is over

and this verse is for all the un's

I want to keep living

what a poet is for

if not a process

a poet evades the event

an event happens

but a poet is an existence

and a poet is many more

so powerful to change the designated title

who am I it says

listening her own voice

it was everything and nothing they ever wanted

it was absent

and it was lost

it was unfound and unimagined

it was undetermined and impossible

the poet considered it impossible

like the infamous hatter once did

he was too

MAD

the poet looked for the unfound and unimaginary

keeping her own reality sacred and to her own

it was all of and about her dreams once

one day she lost

one day she lost them

one day she lost everything and nothing she ever wanted

she was finally unidentified

everything and nothing she ever wanted

all the years she spent

trying to find the name

trying to inscribe the names

now realising it was all about being no one

no one can be anyone

anyone can be everyone

and that simple it was

her fight brought her back to nothing

and nothing finally meant everything

what she was going to name it now

it was nothing

all that was naught had been for something

something destroyed a thing

a thing was lost in the middle of unfound

it was unnecessary and undesired

she wanted to make nothing out of it

nothing was everything

everything was something

and in the end she see-d

all of it has been about one thing

those were not the days

The Names.

The names she looked for

the names she lost herself in

in her away days she'd been happy

in her away days she'd been no one

she was everything and all the things no one thought to have

it was all undetermined

and unsudden

she felt when to stop

and when to write

a poet should now

that everything is undetermined as anything

a poet should now

reality is what we prescribe ourselves

reality

is the drug

human-made

human-saved

distributed eternalong

a poet is not required to have the answer

but the thought

and a thought is the candidate of reality

but reality

is all about The Names.

The Deadly

Names.

The Deadly Names.