collection

paint

The future is a blur of smudged paint
Dragged across the canvas by inexperienced shaking hands
They tell me it is beautiful
But I can only see the mess that I have made
The sickly brown smeared across my palms that however hard I try
I cannot wash away

I cannot dream in future vision
I cannot slip those time traveler lenses over my eyes
I cannot see the ultraviolet, only the ultra-violent
And I bleed away my worries in words that no one shall ever read
And I scream away my sorrows in voices that never belonged to me

The future is a daydream,
Bright skies and gentle waves
That wash away my purple fingertips
And yet when I dream of my own
Those waves become polluted, the sky falls upon the crashing waves
Drowning my fingertips in their suffocating embrace and tightening the nooses on my toes

My future is non-existent
It is late night conversation to keep the demons away a little longer
It is glances through crowds of people who, like you and I, will die eventually
It is your face breaking apart with a smile that expels so much light and so much goodness
My future is a daydream, a night dream and all the in-between
My future is the terrifying unknown
It is writing
And it is reading
It is travelling even if I don't have the money to go anywhere
My future is sitting at bus stops waiting for a taxi
And knowing that it will never come
But waiting anyway just so that I can watch the sunset
It is snow storms and rainy days
It is running barefoot through a field with no real direction
It is counting the stars at midday

I tell myself that my future is non-existent
And yet
It is so full and so bright
It may not last forever
And I will die, as will you.
But this moment
This is the future.
This is rolling skies and glittering streams.
It is streetlamps that never seem to turn off
And streets that I don't yet know the names of.

My future is a blur of smudged paint
And though it may not be clear or simple
It is wonderful and it is mine.