L aughter I mproves E verything
The laughter,
so serene,
so beautiful,
so—-
mysterious.
I hardly ever
Remember how it feels to laugh
realistically.
It’s all just an illusion.
I am merely
fog.
A hazy vision of something
almost solid.
Almost
real.
And yet a faded shade
of
blue
Shines
from my eyelids.
A weariness
I’ve grown accustomed to,
and hardly anyone notices.
Not.
A.
Soul.
I mirror the world we live in.
plastic
But I fear:
That it makes me truly plastic.
The sharpened reality blurs out
into a dream I won’t remember.
But knowing there’s a world in which
my laughter,
all the while unconscious,
is my own without any facade?
That makes it all almost bearable.
(2010)
Posting more or less in remembrance of my younger mindset.
