Poetry of the Anonymous

XXV - Last Night

Last night I got drunk on my own,

It wasn't sad, or lonely –

It was beautiful: I was everything.

I was all I needed to be; need to be.

An uncontaminated self-contained entity;

At least I thought.

Last night I got high in my bedroom,

It wasn't the first time, or the last –

Every profound moment surpassed my prior understanding,

And I felt free, for once.

I was free; though its life – like its light – was short lived.

Last night I cried for hours alone,

It was exquisite, it was everything I yearn for:

Pure expression,

No irrationally facilitated judgement,

Just I – releasing the self,

Like a grand cosmic orgasm.

Last night I prayed,

Not to God, to myself –

For I know therein lies the true God:

My subconscious; yearning to escape –

For divine release from the souls entrapment.

Last night I dreamt of suicide,

I was falling –

I wanted to die.

I hit the ground –

I lived; strange now to recall.

Last night I fought sleep,

And I thought of you; and all those –

Who before me have also fought sleep,

And written about it,

Through enigmatic soliloquys and monologues of disarray.

Last night I wrote a poem:

But I deleted it – I dismantled its existence,

For it was beautiful.

And nothing beautiful can exist within this world,

Without contamination – the heart of the devil:

Nurtured hatred –

Existence.