“Peace of mind for five minutes, that’s what I crave.” —Alanis Morissette
I’m not at peace with myself,
I told her, I’ve never been,
I don’t know what it is, but
even when I’ve accomplished
something, I’m disturbed,
not just empty but unsettled,
like something antithetical
to divine light, an unholy darkness
has me in its calloused palm,
there are moments
when the seven demons or
the madness or whatever it is,
releases me, and I find clarity,
a soothing lucidity when
carpe diem isn’t something
in the distance, like the brownstone
across the street, but a sympathetic
force that rearranges the contours
of my mind – transforming the
zigzagging patterns into
a symmetrical whole like
Elijah and Moses transfigured,
shining with the light of the sun.
Oh, how I wish for more
of those moments!
I don’t even know if writing helps,
sometimes peace rises like
the elect raptured from the
spaces between the lines
and consumes me, but sometimes
some cosmic horror snakes its
way through the syllables,
tears the fabric of reality
and blinds me with its
inky tendrils, making me relive
the years wasted,
I know you can’t help me, and I hate
burdening you with this,
but listen… please listen.
Photo by Žygimantas Dukauskas on Unsplash
Ordinary Person 
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