internet moss (poem)
i have an old, growing moss field
that's taking its toll on my heart;
it's starting to make its way through my arteries
hoping to reach the soft core within,
held together only by pictures of what I can remember I used to be.
my friends say
the past doesn't exist,
and the future never will be:
constantly trapped within non-existence,
I struggle to understand
the vulnerability of acknowledging the empirical truths.
when you become aware
of the web that entangles this realm
it feels like a trap.
what's here and what's over there? I don't know.
(I can't see that far ahead.)
the good thing about my disenchantment,
I tell my friends (if they are even real)
is that detaching so much from meaning
will eventually give me
the freedom that I strive to conceive