Dichotomous Consciousness


Inside we are all both black, and white.
Black being the absence of light.
An empty vacuum void wrapped in sheets of empty blindness,
but nothing can't surround nothing because 'to do' requires noise and not silence.

And what that logic implies is...

I am more than non-existent.
I just wish I could align my thoughts without being so inconsistent.
Thoughts of tying leather straps to my brain so I could reign in that exhausting, tiresome pain.
But on a good day it's not the same.

On good days I feel blessed to be me.
There's no up without down, no good without bad, it's called gravity.
So on a good day I find Newton's third law comforting.
But good days are bright and the sun shines in so relentlessly that it's blinding,
it shines just enough to distract you, to stop you rewinding.
Rewinding to the bad days, reminders of your old ways along with the thoughts, feelings and fears.
But the bad days return like a black hole behind your eyes and between your ears,
thoughts collapse in on themselves like the stars have for billions of years.
Constantly seducing your brain into becoming the hollow, barren husk.
However that dubious gravitational pull is just short of being strong enough.

Because there is the whiteness.
A blinding beam, a continuum of kindness.
Every colour we can visualise is gathered up and wrapped into one.
However there are those whose beams don't shine as brightly as some.
The wrapping gets tighter and tighter until it's... overdone.

Forcing themselves to bury that goodness out of fear it might be stolen, tainted or broken.
But they cannot see that in doing so fate has already unsealed her lips and spoken.
By squeezing and compressing and hiding and stressing...
it is worse than broken.
And from the intense repression a star has awoken.
It burns like an insatiable obsession forged in the fires of depression.
A fiery supernova,
so debilitating that you can do nothing but weep until it's over.

See, the darkness isn't the enemy or something to fear.
The darkness is the product of our internal plight to extinguish our light,
to intentionally banish all sight.
And for what?
This world we're living in perpetuates these false images
of a perfect paradise upon a pedestal which has become all too visible...
it's better for the true you to be invisible.
They love to say "just be you" but when you do you see that what they said wasn't true.

That's what it means when your wrapping is overdone.
You feel doubt and it makes you question the most basic of sums.
Because a self that cannot see the light cannot grasp the concept that some things truly are right;
and that one honest voice amongst a thousand lies is not enough inspiration to fight.
He doesn't see A + B = C.
He sees A and thinks "I could never approach someone so far above me."
He sees B and thinks "that's me, second place in a two man race and that's all I'll ever be."
He thinks that C stands for 'catastrophe',
but little does he know it could have stood for 'chemistry'.
There will come a time where he will reminisce and unmask this fallacy.
"Oh." he'll whisper, with resided ambiguity.
And then he'll do exactly what he has always done.
He wraps it up like leftovers and leaves it to spoil in the sun.
Ignoring his pain so that he can suffer not on this day, but on another one.

But tucked away, hidden by the shadowed paradox of nothing,
when the stardust has settled,
in the deepest recessions of even the bleakest of minds resides a glimmering shine.
Even a self with no esteem can be allowed to see.
To see the absence of substance within these lies that we tell ourselves.

If the blackness is truly nothing then why does it talk to us?
And repeat to us.
And repeat to us.
And repeat to us.
Wearing us down until we are reading from a new syllabus.
Until we are no longer 'us'.
It sends in empty planes with missiles of pain fired from inside your own brain.
The explosions cause damage.
They crack foundations through the eliminations of the thoughts, which are our only true creations.
These voids being formed make us more and more like 'I', 'me' and 'you' and less like 'us'.
They change the way we think, see and feel;
leaving us with no way to interpret

what is truly real.

  • Author: Kyran (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 20th, 2016 12:52
  • Comment from author about the poem: This poem was written in an incredibly sleep deprived and somewhat psychotic state, then edited later. I wanted to create an abstract portrayal of the conflicts and contrasts within a repressive human mind. I have never shared anything I have written before but I felt this piece might be worth getting feedback on. It was originally meant to be a slam poem.
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 64
  • User favorite of this poem: Christina K.


  • Christina K

    A little long, but definitely worth the read! I loved how abstract it was but how real it felt and I can definitely see it used for slam poetry. Well done!

  • Christina8

    I think it was well done slam poetry and I liked when it rhymed. Very abstract thoughts. Yes, what is truly real, indeed? It sounds like there is a struggle with light/dark and that no one understands. You did a great job.

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