ambiguous-transparency:

Do you know what it feels like to see 
with light bulbs, glass stars, for eyes, do you?

I burn broken constellations as dreams 
because keeping my head down in regression 
is easier than allowing ambitions to constantly 
light up the filaments in my eyes, letting people 
in only to never truly open up. Love at first sight 
is beautiful because you can’t find it once the light 
runs away with fear and insanity in vanity is the 
highlight of youth, courting the rebels to their last 
dances before addictions cage them in sunrises.

Soul mates are the epitome of nostalgia; how else 
would you explain the longing you feel for the one 
you love even when you’ve never met, feeling the 
synchronization thunder in your mind like missiles?  
You start wondering why wandering is so broken but 
liberating, much like a prison with the atmospheric 
pressure as walls and meteors shower in my heart 
with the flow of unnamed passion in the arteries, 
lust for love whispering seductively for no inhibitions. 

When night brews its magic in my eyes, I turn myself 
in and dose off in a trance fueled with nicotine and 
caffeine, with a flashlight in my numb hands for guidance 
because you don’t know, you don’t know how it feels 

to have broken shards of light bulbs with fried filaments 
as eyes, the mind the switch, binding them in hibernation.