the world is a pleasure

while i seizure

the world goes on and on

i strike anon

while flames pass on

i go on and on

while i miss the most

the solstice host

goes on and on

til lifes measure

comes calm and pleasure

i go on and on

while wicked weep

and i linger in my sleep

i go on and on

the wild forest

comforts my pores

and i go on and on anon

the flickering saber

of my hearts neighbor

go on and on

will i seek ghosts

and harbor of the most

as i go on, and on

why should i try

to circumsize

what goes on?

Defenseless to Dreaming

I miss her hair; her eyes; the gap in her front teeth. In looking back, these attributes are a theme in my attempts to swoon the women of my life. I was a fool. I still am , but now I am a fool who knows he’s a fool. One pretending to be sane, but died a long time ago, and only now does the corpse begin to stink. When I look at where I am, now, I wonder what she would think of me. If she would even care if they played a part, albeit a circumstantial one, in my current state. If I seen her on the street i would lie and tell her how well i am doing, and she would not believe me. My hair constantly disheveled, beard, dirty pants, and foul smell emanating from my body. Then I would go home to torture myself. More ammo for the self loathing. The thing is, I do miss her, and even if it was good then, it would likely not be so today. I have fallen from her graceful assumptions of me. She has seen me turn into a monster, and that is what I regret. Not the fact that I actually became an evil person, rather that she SEEN it. It is so unlikely for a person to see someone they know, or are in a relationship, as a good person again. Not as before. And then, it falls apart. If i could take the thought of that out of my mind, I would. I somehow long, not to make the future better ( because it is tainted), but to live in a time where i trusted people. What i want, she doesn’t. And vice versa. Dreams play a cruel trick on me, in which I must relieve the same agonizing moments over and again, until i finally succumb to it and go mad. I want something that I can never have again, and I must just go on with it, without any residual feelings. It makes me feel good that at least one time in my life i have loved someone, but soon after those feelings are washed away by my despicable nature, and nasty resentments. I must get far away from here, yet i can only outrun the ghosts in my own town, and not the ones who wait until I am defenseless to haunt me.

I said, " just say it to me once,

You don't even have to mean it."

But her eyes told me,

Even if she couldn't,

That she wouldn't ever understand

The flames of my spirit

She wasn't the echo

My beckoning call

I leaned in for a kiss

She stepped back, 

to watch 

me fall

"How guilty she must be" , I thought

She swallows many words

And buries them deep, deep

Behind daggers and swords

All I need was her

All she needed was me

Or so I thought

In my naivety

She had style, no morals

She confessed with a smug glee

And I wanted to strangle her

As she lay next to me

I was the frog prince

Of this grim fairytale

Where we die in the end,

Because love is too frail

From passion came pain

With its sinuous grit

It would have been worse

If those words ever fell from her lips

So in dreams we meet,

For, in life, we hate

This concrete and marble

Prison of fate

    Today I will surely die. Death is whispering betwixt the cracks and crevices of this old drafty home; watching me as I sleep. My concern was solely fixed on the hour and manner of my death. “There are so many ways to die” , I thought , as my hair stood stiff on end. Nay, I must keep my wits about me this foul day! I swallowed away my evil pondering with a generous dose of Tennessee bourbon.

    Then, at once, there was a thundering on the oak frame of my front door. Who could it be at such an hour? ;and with such an odd cadence that sends my spine into shivers? I slowly crept towards the thudding in hopes my unexpected guest would not be alerted of my presence. I gathered enough courage to attempt a glance through the peephole, amongst the persistent horrific banging. Then something curious happened. There was nothing. There was nothing, but an awful silence. An eerie, cryptic, deafening silence.

    I gingerly snuck my eye to the eye-piece affixed to the wooden door frame to take a look. My left eye, half shut, twitched as my pupil dilated to survey the grounds. Who is THIS looking back at me?! An anvil dropped into my stomach as I scurried away from the rotten cause of my despair. Another glass of bourbon fueled my hatred of myself and how pathetic a man I was showing myself to be. 

    I took my hand from the bottle and thrust open the door howling, “Who are you?! What do you want of me?!! ; but the only thing left was the sound of my falling echo and a letter lying on my doorstep, addressed to me, Mister Winston Blackwell.  

I handled my bag,

But is my bag this?

With scandal and slag

Within my dry lips

Dripping candles

Angst magnified length by width

I dismantle my mind

And divide my wit

I am of distasteful desire

Winged spawn transmutation and mire

Ignorance and sensitivity conspire

In my throat with ashes.

Pass heaven and see my eye

Call above the open sky

Seek and ye shall find they say

Alone amongst the ashes

These ashes come from earth and mud

And bones of history , bones and blood

These ashes come from heart and mind

But ashes turn to ashes

Don't think just do til black and blue

Strange object in apparent view

I am he and he is you

When we turn to ashes.

Yeah, yeah we get it

Chipping off the old block

Tying my wrists bloody

Just to get a taste

But nobody listens

Hello father are you there?

Terrible demon wedged betwixt my psyche

No more, no less

Help me please

Falling echoes

Just another boy who can't swim

Running Swiftly 

Chased by venomous arachnids

Mama tried to keep me in her web

I used the spindles for kindling

Wake up

Another dead body combing through the dust

Whirlwind trip

Sanguine handcuffs 

Muffling the sound 

Another boy lost

Wild world drowning

Splintering driftwood I touch