I’ve always thought that the other side would be a paradise,
yet the more I search for it the more I learn,
that the other side holds nothing but my own suppression.
Sometimes I look at this world and wince at the pain written across the faces,
only to find myself and realize my own hell,
the other side of me I almost overlook.
The rest of the universe against the never ending midnight,
laden with anger, laced with the senile smell of death,
smiling at me as if it were a joke that the sun never rises.
I will myself to ignore the grinning evil,
training my eyes to focus on the dandelions amidst this barren land,
making up for the darkness tugging at the horizon, never letting go.
But where do I look away if the other side is painted on the insides of my eyelids?
It is there when I blink, it is there when I sleep,
like a lump I cannot swallow.
Maybe I have yearned for paradise written in tales,
beautiful and sweet, fragrant and serene,
a place on the other side I can call home someday.
But here is the other side, here is hell,
dark and twisted as it is,
perched silently like air so thick, pressed to my chest.
It will not get any better than this world I am handed – that, I know,
and paradise is what I choose to make of it,
until I close my eyes letting the other side swallow me whole.
11 MAY 2016, 07:53 am