Dismembered

 "Every morning I open my eyes to the world. I know who I am, I know what I've done.
The catch is, I don't remember a single bit of it."

  Imagine a man who is, by all outward appearances, still himself. However, what the public sees is only half of what exists within. And what exists within is truly just a wisp of the spirit, dancing about its empty, dark casement, with no sense of past, present, or future. The lost, dismembered spirit does not actually know who he is, but simply knows how he is expected to behave as if he were still the same person as before.
Before what? That's a very good question. A good question, but one which the spirit cannot answer. All of his experiences are locked up in the star-shaped necklace he wears about his neck. If separated from this necklace, his already shattered sense of self begins to fade. If the necklace is broken, the body will die.
And so, the ghost desperately searches for the reason his host has retreated to the confines of a simple piece of jewelry.

~

We all know him. That friend who seems to know everyone, but no one actually knows them. 
This is dedicated to that person. 

-Argentia Krystofel

Moon (The 1975 Inspired)

I go to sleep on the moon,
Catch some stars,
Hold them close to my heart
and they will turn into gold, and I will make you mine,

Looking into your eyes, I see the dawn,
I see the next sunrise,
Even if I wait here for thousands of years alone,
I will wait for a brief touch, a single piece of your breathtaking light.

12/14/14, 3:45 a.m.

-Argentia Krystofel

Idealizations

Flickering, reflecting, back and forth,
Midwinter warriors marching about,
From this perch, in the nest of a bird,
Beyond this mountain lies the universe

Every single day, we give and take away,
Striving for something we can only idealize
Never grasp or gaze upon, blind hope beams
Up like the forgotten rays of the summer sun,

Dancing, dreaming, back and forth,
Crusaders changing the atmosphere
In a summer I have not yet seen or lived,
Sometimes thinking upon your yesteryears.

There is a small staircase behind Brown College
Visited with a friend during a warm spell,
Don't you think that might be lovely?
Or is this just my miserable idealizations?

Strong laughter, low murmurs, back and forth,
If you like to live away from home, you're lucky
You aren't struggling while alone, or so it appears,
Perhaps you have already found someone to hold

Wandering isn't my style but neither can I stand still,
Like the feeling of the waves against the sand,
Strong and steady, one place for a while, another for the next
Five years or so, not one of those sparkling idealizations.

-Argent Krystofel