Van Gogh’s chair sits patiently
with the stubborn dignity
of something that has held
more weight than wood should bear.
Its legs splay slightly,
as if tired from listening
to the long monologues
of a man who painted
as though the world
were always on fire.
A pipe rests on the seat~
a small, domestic witness
to his restless hours,
the way he paced the room
searching for a color
that could tell the truth.
The straw seat glows
with a worn, sunlit patience,
a quiet counterpoint
to the fevered strokes
he left on every wall.
And the room around it
leans in,
holding its breath,
as if the chair
might speak at last
and tell us
what he carried
when he sat down
and let the world
fall away.
Y'All
Feel Like
You're Deceiving
Everything... With
Who You Are
No Matter How
Hard To
Try Not
Confuse
The Issue,
Or Like
Wave
Diminishes
From A Spot
Well, It
Was, Now
More
Past
A
Wave?
Is It
Helpful
To Be
More Accurate?
Or Am I Deceiving
Myself? Oh.
Share It!
Why?
I Give Nothing.
I Don’t Think It Helps
Just Wasting Our Time
With Inner Monologues
Embracing, /Effacing...
No! There... You Can't...
Go Play Something Else
Or Just Watch...
That Didn't Take Very Long.
Selfish.
-Gray Squirrel
07-19-2026
People should be more like dogs
And stop resembling hogs
When at a meeting
They should sniff each other’s seating
And stop the long-winded monologues.
you have heard of run-on-sentences
Milly is full of run-on-banter
if she has a pause, it is isochromonal
nothing stops her inane monologues
she is unwelcome at most family events
the lunchroom at her work shuts down when she arrives
she is shunned, without having any idea why
I converse with my demons.
The monologues are endless,
Dark confessions on scraps of macabre memories.
My mouth stays shut after uttering blasphemies,
I terrorize my ghosts with the darkness of my fantasies.
I stumbled before the gates of hell,
It's too late — I'll end up in Lucifer's furnaces.
The journey will be chaotic until the final breath,
No consolation, only incurable wounds in this infernal abyss.
I smile at the angel of death like those fanatics ready to die for a few virgins.
My humanity embraces all the demonic facets of its spark,
Forever at war with a legion of the damned,
A procession of curses on the highway of immortality.
A few impure souls to sacrifice on the altar of repentance,
Pharaoh's blood to cleanse my dignity,
To be a slave for the glory of my oppressors — impossible.
To brandish arms — a saving urgency.
Throw me a banana, and I'll send you straight to the doorstep of my ancestors.
I learned to handle weapons of war in a banana republic.
I'm on alert, like those sleeper agents.
Servitude and submission are forbidden.
I preach peace, justice, and harmony,
But I do not fear the horrors of chaos.
My existence traumatizes my enemies.
Cosmic dust carpets the night sky
Like glittering snow blanketing billowing pine trees,
Captivating our deepest thoughts.
Inner monologues break their dams,
Flooding our consciousness with fleeting questions—
Of what was and what still might be.
Existential queries fly by like shooting stars:
Why here? Why this planet, this plane of existence?
Only to disappear in a flash, leaving no trace.
For we are so small within the emptiness of galaxies,
Yet we hold onto hope that there is more beyond what can be seen.
For even the death of a star breeds life—
From scattered ruins comes the calcium that builds our bones.
Within the silence of night, we come ever closer to tranquility.
Let the glow of moonbeams wash over you.
As each star has a pattern of its own, so do you.
Wipe your tears, sweet child,
Whilst the balmy breeze wraps around you.
Let your past evaporate like a summer rain
A fleeting vision and aura
Hidden
Deep in the recess of my mind
Under the cover of darkness
Toying with my psyche
Reading my mind
Undisclosed thoughts
Inner monologues
Coaching
Guiding
Escaping reality for a fleeting moment
Feeling my soul spirit
Whispering
Softly,
So softly.
Words escaping from my lips,
Echoing,
Bouncing around like an electric current—
The jumble of my brain,
Like a jigsaw puzzle,
Searching desperately for a missing piece.
A link—
Broken.
The silence screams.
Empty.
A hole where my heart used to be.
My mental notes are like those from a psychologist
Full of monologues and constant wars between myself
Cause most times I'm undecided whether to take the high
For I'm used to the lows that give a mean punch
My mental notes are something of a cry of help
Of a character stuck in he's ways
That it's hard to try and change
Cause it will be like straying from what he's known
My mental notes describes all the chaos
The beautiful madness that creates perfect peace on paper
Cause it all boils down to a harmless paper
And all the harm it can do is cause a long paper trail
My mental notes belong in a mental hospital
Cause I see things that normal minds don't
I hear words speak, and that's not normal
And I make words speak to you once you read them
The PO£T
Dear heart,
Please take a break
I know this feeling, I have had this feeling before
It soothes at first, beguiling flings
Which shines, too
Sometimes brighter than goddess Theia
I know the comforts, the placidity it yields
And the euphoria!
Dear soul,
Stop the inner monologues
I know them, I have heard them before
With their potent, clean blade of satires
They chop pathos into cruelty, dubiety into actions
Listen to how it urges me into a chance, now or never!
Volition, I can hear the whispers. Volitions!
Dear mind,
Avoid these thoughts
I remember them, they’ve run here before
Scattered into ways of no pattern
Tearing asunder the accords binding the soul and mind
Here, they boast of the utility they bequeath me
Chary, here, I must be, and slow I must tread
Forasmuch I owe the better of me to them
But hey! Avoid these ones regardless.
Dear self,
Collect these fragments and mend them back
For you’ve lost yourself, broken and scattered
Blend symphony from these discords
And for once let you speak as you, dear self!
They look at you with their shiny bright eyes
They smile at you through their adorable styles
They run around the house doing cute little mischiefs
They fill your heart with so much delight
They hug you with soft soothing cuddles
They charm you through their sweet gabbles
They make you laugh by their innocent giggles
Aren’t grandkids simply marvels?
They entertain you with their amusing dialogues
They treat you with their pretend-play monologues
They amuse you with their hilarious stories and talks
Aren’t grandkids simply a bliss to your heart?
They make you think by their curious expressions
They help you stay focused by their enthusiastic observations
They enhance your knowledge by their naïve questions
Aren’t grandkids truly an inspiration?
If it seems like government
Is out of place
The ideal is to slow it down
to a snail's pace
Instead of getting business done
Slow it down so nothing is won
Take out time to smear a face
Using ethics to bring disgrace
Point the finger, use their race
Dysfunctional being the style of lace
Plan useless monologues
Take up time, cause a fog
Make clear to the participants
This must be
Before they govern
They must be sin free
So far as I know
It must be told
The only thing to pass
Is some type of dress code
We need Republicans to be Democrats
And Democrats to be Republicans
Take the side of God
Or the Constitution
Lobbyist are not the solution
Neither are judges
Seeking prosecutions
We once saw the answer
Was the Oath
How sad are we now
For great men
Not to quote
Eyes in a half-opened gaze
Catching their breath after hacking up sea water
Reflections of the sun bouncing as they bob
'To sing' clearly defined next to my name
I embodied melodic movements and spoke in song
I hypnotized people with my garden of a heart
Each vine enveloping them in rhythmic laughter
Eventually you trapped me in this stony place
Moss hiding secrets of truth and misperceptions
I slip every time my pruney soles try to climb out
As my body skids, I can hear the garden's song
It's song sends me back to before I was conscious
Maybe that little girl is still here
I know my family still holds onto her memory
She teases them through a song, a joke, a story
And they become convinced she has returned
Picking warm cherry tomatoes, saving dying worms
Performing monologues without an audience
For a moment, I am in the heart of the garden
Eventually, it begins to drizzle and I slip
I trip over the vines that once carried me
And, once again, I am washed back to the stony place
We have handed over control
to a phantom, that insane inner voice
we name the 'ego'.
Listen not to those demanding monologues
look not to their twisted reasoning.
Do not fight with its recitations
give them no credence.
Such thoughts come
from the invasive roots of fear,
do not feed them with attention.
Don't identify with its words,
it will talk to us
as if it were our own true thoughts
yet they are not, they never ever were.
Turn your mind away
neglect and ignore
the ego's attempts to persuade
and coerce.
Our real thoughts emerge
from that space we create from silence,
there the ego holds no sway,
there its mad dialogues
can be easily expunged
with just a simple and knowing smile
of pure awareness.
Misty Moist meticulous mermaidens
manipulate manuscript movement
modalities making monumental
meteoric metamacroorgasmic mind music.
Monoku monologues mesmerize male-strom
multiplayer milkshake mitochondrial
metaphysically montaged Mirror Mirror memories.
My my my me mine.
D r i f i n g
observations from faraway places
dreams drawn from Beta born curios
traveling through limitless faces
distant glow of conscious realities
from here I see
wedding rings around Neptune
sleepwalking awake
weightless again
the ebb and flow
of Light year therapies
meditative monologues
threadbare Thetas
my return Home
Alone----together
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