quas-i

[quas-i]

Bipolar

I found myself in my own kind of hell

It was in between a moment of seeing red

And blacking out

Personified wrath breaking out from its shell

I found myself in a jail cell

Not figuratively but literally, I was confined,

it was then I had no doubt

that I get lost in my mind

I have moments with the clouds in my fingertips,

And then thrown to the bottom of the oceans’ under toe,

Beneath the tides ripped, height of all heights

Both hand in hand, I violently tumble below

I was in a spell,

I sound myself in my own mind of hell

Would I prefer some stabilization

A medium, instead of high or low

Or is this game of rhetorics another hypothetical, an exercise to keep my mind afloat

I suppose feeling is my choice

As much as my genetics or my skin

That maybe my bipolar gives a more interesting voice

For others enjoyment, an audience watching my head spin

I get manic, I enjoy grand gestures

I like making people feel not alone

Because it is I who is king of that

No one is meant for that throne

I found myself in my own kind of hell

I adjust, I adapt, my head I sometimes can’t trust

I analyze, I assess, it isn’t reliable what I felt

Which makes me question me and your thoughts of us

I suppose this is my own kind of hell

I’d prefer the euphoria I experience with you

Knowing the immobilizing heart break when we’re apart

I know they come hand in hand, but I’m trying to start

Making distinctions between my mind and my stupid fucking heart

And checkmate my logic, I suppose this can be a start

That for once maybe I just might listen to reason

But following reason isn’t me, it was my heart that I believe in

Can I trust my sight, my touch, or sense of smell

Since then, I’ve questioned everything

This is my own kind of hell

With my brain trying to decipher every motive

Every action, everything that leaves your lips

Every sentence I string together I never mean to be loaded

I suppose who I am, who I was, is not equipped

to make the best

of every chance I’ve been granted

To see without distortion,

to make most of what I’ve been handed

to finally see just a little bit clearer

And remember every land mine that I’ve set

see through the smoke, see through the mirrors

To exist with logic peacefully coexist

with what we’ve both felt

I suppose this is my own personal kind of hell

[quas-i]

Smoke and Mirrors

I wade, I cross, through a shallow path

and clearing

I stumble, I’m steadfast, it’s you

I’m misleading

Because behind the literature

And letters strung clear

It is I who had prepared

The smoke and the mirrors

I have walked through a dark place

With you in my hand

I alluded you into believing

That this was all part of the plan

A plan of grandeur

and a love unseen

It was I who convinced you

I was more than just me

And so I break every mirror

I blow all the smoke

It is just me that you see

You have finally awoke

From the dream that I sold you

The future simple and clean

And all that I’ve left you

Was a rude awakening to me

[quas-i]

Merrily, Merrily

I remember a young buck

who always chased the dollar

Preferred the pavement

lived off luck,

Chose the street over becoming a doctor

Merrily merrily, and just quite, barely

He began speaking for a living

A pen became a therapist’s therapy

And instead of a white coat collar,

every bell rung

sad words spun, 

It was common, that he rolled the dice

with his life 

and he did it for fun, 

never thought twice, never felt,

But began to catch feelings

because he couldn’t quite stop life

Couldn’t stop her, tried luring, tried reeling

Before he knew, he began praying,

began kneeling

Fucked every room up

for always saying what he was feeling

And barely barely he thought

he might end up merrily

If he can stop his vices

and contain his fuckin self sparingly

Began pulling obscure passages

from a library’s shelf daringly

And took the thoughts of writers

and lived their words as if it was him, carefully

And the ghost of previous authors

he began living through them

And maybe he reaped what he sowed

and the reaper wasn’t so grim

And not too much later, after that, 

I realized that that boy, I was him

The one who always

took the long way around the block

That I’m still that boy, but older,

for a second time stops

And I’m good

Sometimes it’s hard to remember

But I’m good I’ve been through worse than this But I need to remember every time that I could This is nothing compared to where i’ve been

And even though I unravel, I’ll always be good

[quas-i]

[quas-i]

Permanent

I suppose everything in life is temporary, and I often seek something permanent A passing moment, a fading love, spilling blood with a tourniquet and so I have learned to appreciate the little time I share with you We exist in a blip in time, at least from an existential point of view But it never bothered me how much of an impact I’d leave because you are my world, you are the only one I’d care to remember me and when I think of the short time until we hear afterlife’s bell I hope for nothing more for you to remember me well And though it seems that we are as insignificant as a grain of sand on the beach My feelings for you stretch further that even the depths of space cannot reach You are my source of warmth, you are my sun, and I am the moon that reflects your light and even though we seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things, my reply is that you are my world, I will gravitate toward you, I will circle the life you bring to me And my feelings for you are as certain as death or taxes, something I wish you’d eventually see I suppose everything in life is temporary, and I often seek something permanent I’m a novice at love, before you, I have always had difficulty learning it But my love for you encompasses everything I know that doesn’t end And with you, I find it impossible to see me running out of love to spend We are permanent, at least from my side of things and I know it doesn’t make sense, and you were a casualty of all of the baggage I bring But to me, you are home, I’m not looking for anything else and it was you who made my temporary and better me my permanent self

[quas-i]

Queen

I’m manic, I’m sporadic, I often shoot from the hip Shoot first, ask later, I’ve been this way since my unbilicle cord ripped I grow tired of the words that keep floods from my lips I reach and grasp for you strongly, but I often have no grip

On reality, on the moving pieces around You are my queen and I sacrifice every chess piece that with you they surround that I often lose the match because I’d never sacrifice you I win the battle, lose the war, I never lose, this is new I only engage in arguments I know that I can win and I find that I’m always right because my opinions sometimes spin and I pivot, I redirect my beliefs, depending on what you prove But believing your thoughts that we should let go, my queen, That is something I will never see me do

[quas-i]

Wrapped Scab

I retreat into a house of glass to get away in open view I am in a space, in the center,  between four walls  and through these walls I find you

The transparency and the shine is all but misleading; that even though, you’re in plain sight, you are not something I am seeing You may find me fleeting just as my thoughts sometimes do, and I find that you have forever been the culprit, it’s always been you Before you I have never bent, never broken, never folded You are the cause to every scab, to every future that I’ve sculpted

in my head, in my bed, my thoughts I cannot seem to wrap around I don’t know what is up, what is down, between the sky from the ground

A scab I pick into a scar that traces back to you Fuck this scab, fuck this scar, fuck being apart, and fuck me too

[quas-i]

Scab

It is difficult to not pick at a healing scab A scar is a scar whether from a minor cut or a stab It is difficult to differentiate between the two when it comes to you Because beneath the dead skin is new flesh when the a picked scab forms an old wound But I never know how deep to pick at these cuts If this is something I should let heal, or if it’s something I must Scratch through the jabs, the incisions, and sutures The scabs, all of which have deterred my plans, our aspirations, our future Is a scab something to be left alone Is a scab some kind of evidence; that through the pain we have grown Are these wounds even worthy of addressing Are these scars just a reminder that each other we have been besting I guess I’ll never fucking know the answer I don’t know if I should forget or let my thoughts spread to every crevice of my mind like a cancer I don’t know if I should leave what’s left of us broken or try to fix what is left, and piece together the decisions I have chosen Truthfully, I’ll never know when it’s time to move on And these scars and these scabs might feed into the con That the grass is always greener  until you get to another motherfucker’a fucking lawn But it is I who’s to blame because this is what I have brought on

I don’t know if my head is something that I’ll always be stuck in If you don’t know, then I don’t know, Maybe it’s time to stop fixing the pieces, maybe it’s time to say, fuck it

Maybe we should give up the glue, the shattered pieces, the sharp glass And together we find a fresh start, finally let these scabs pass

[quas-i]

Swing for the Fences/Spew-Spit/Special-Enough

[quas-i]

Library

In one lifetime, a man can venture through a series of selves; A collection of people, instances, and moments, all placed upon a shelf

But when I had stumbled into your life, and had selfishly intervened It was only you who could trace your fingers along the binding of my favorite me

I have a library of shameful selves A passing of me that has reoccurred, A glimpse of me that I wish I could unsee And despite the unfinished covers and stains Along the torn pages of books that encompass me

I fumble on the notion that it is even possible that I’m your favorite library

[quas-i]

Tightrope

I tread lightly across a balance beam

A step into a fumble, one side too afraid to lean

Too far left to compensate for what I haven't done right

With no one to follow but a bright light

I've stumbled through clearings and skylines between

To express the me that others haven't seen

To find myself I've hid so deep

A balance beam I hadn't cleared a fall so steep

[quas-i]

824

We met when we were younger, with our first kiss beneath your sheets. I was nervous to inch closer, too timid to be within arms reach. But after each passing moment, each moment I've done you wrong, we've experienced everything and anything despite me stringing you along. And though I don't deserve the grace nor the chances you've given me, it was your guidance and your soften tones that have kept me from a flee. For every experience that we have spent together, both horrid and of bliss, it all roots from the moment that I had asked you for our first kiss.

It was a consistent struggle between myself and I. A me that was not ashamed to leave, versus another self of mine. A me that was defined by the shambles I've left of who were in my way, and a me who woke up trying to correct the mistakes I've made the following day. But I have come to terms that there are two beasts inside of me. One is caring and is the gentlest of souls, while the other has no regard for the other whole of me. I have come to learn that there are two heads that compose me through and through. And I hope for your sake darling, that only the worthy self will be the only me you knew.

I don't want my eloquence and charm to fool you. Because I've been told I've had my way with words, and the old me would have no remorse to leave you a lesson to be learnedThat I could manipulate and puppeteer the outcome of our nightBut I am no longer that person, I'd like for more than to stay the night I'd like to know your favorite colorWhat dreams you have in bedI'd love to know what thoughts you haveAnd share what's in my headI want something of value, substance, and all betweenI want one day for “us” to mean you and me

[quas-i]

Illusionary

It is an illusion A firm illusion of what I think ought to be It is an illusion A mere idea, the cause to all my flee It is an illusion An imaginary reason to keep the chase alive It is an illusion That keeps unhappy, that keeps apart you and I But if I follow that forever chase And hold that illusion close to mind And hold that excitement of new face In the end, it'll only be that illusion and I Because love was only a joke to me A joke I half heartedly believed to be That with too much time and too much mind Only the illusion would be my company

[quas-i]

taste

I thought I was tasteful once a good eye in all visible a good ear in all sound I bite a good taste in my mouth when you're around and I spit it out when you're not My former self leaves a bitter taste in my mouth but I can't even articulate the horrid taste it leaves you I'm sorry I think you have good taste in men if I'm what you're looking at and I mean that, because even though I've stumbled I truly believe I'm capable of being better than good to you and not only you better than good to anyone 

[quas-i]

one leads to another

Every moment that has ever passed every choice that I've over looked every stone I've left unturned every alley I decided to avoid every word I chose to not speak all led me here, to a life waiting to happen to me Every decision I've made led me here to a life I hope to not miss Every moment leads to another leads to another to another to another to another to now Every drink leads to another leads to another to another to another to another Every cigarette leads to another to another to another Every mistake leads to another leads to another to another to another to another to now So I hope I'm not mistaken for every mishap I've ever had for every misguided crossing I've ever taken I hope it leads to you 

[quas-i]

luna

We're different I reflect the radiance you glow at me without you I'd be nothing for anyone else to see You inject the life into all below us and people look at us, and smile at us and under us, they live, they love, together and though we live apart most times I find that your existence is my existence and though we're opposites, together we're everything to each other and to everything below us but alone, we're nothing and so night and day, we sail above and beneath the clouds We're perpetual I am drawn to you and only you I revolve and circle you I am your reflection 

[quas-i]

i don't know where my head has been

I don't know where my head has been I find that I misplace that sort of thing I'm not the type to piece together people I'm in because I find that I'm not as figured out as I seem but maybe if I gave two shits about what I could make right I would find a way to make some stability stay and maybe if I gave two shits about what I could make right I figure that maybe that I could comply in a better way I don't know where the fuck my fucking head is