The next December could be the last.

my spirit is forfeit, kept inbetween

a letter never sent, a reply lost to choice

an empty promise that eats away at the calender

round this fallen time of season where decay is glorious

and chestnuts burn ever lively in sole company of leaves we used to enjoy

branches, ramifications that died otherwise engaged in the cycle

for we cannot know, we do not see and it is eating me alive.

the bonfire alleviates the differences

like wax, skin loses grip and surrenders

wanted to satisfy both sides and equalize the table

spare some change gatekeeper, pearly jaded wings being

You of form, format and formulation

grant me a boon of wisdom so my realization can't take away

whatever justify my suffering

retrack my steps, put away bait and trap alike

regain the time wasted tempting fate 

for I have neglected to learn the lessons

so I wish to say

I hope there is still take to make it right with you.

_________________________________________________________________

there is a monster under my bed

I hear its crawls and I sense the lurk

the nail upon the wooden floor akin to a coffin

being scratched at, grappled with intent and desperation

rolling on the secrets I hid, festering in the horrors in pleasure

the stench intoxicating and revolting, pushing upwards on the ends of the end

calculating how can the topless Decembers without snow added up to be so naked

a multitude of echoes mingle like discarded armor clashing with solid ground

ever aproaching and bound to be savoury and bittersweet underneath

maybe that is for the better

the cold permeates my exposed skin

makes me remember clearly as it was designed

no softer blow as the days are cut short

a pause for the love both exchanged and cut short.

-

I once wanted to be a soldier

pay my duties

play a part

be a cog without vice

take upon arms and stand so very still

silent to the world

for there was little need to show

weakness for it was carved out

rebelness for it was stamped out

confusion for the captain goes down with the ship

all passangers are alike in this violent hill

faceless and mute we interlock arms for we bear no longer passion to the clauses,

rules and dissections may follow to better allocate joint from bone

or was it to separate and disfigurate? no...wait...

some things are probably best left well alone

unkept and ignored

 

"The worst thing about listening to old songs is that they make you remember those times when life was easy..."

my MP3 player is old and stuck on shuffle repeat,

supports me with the same old playlist when I am scared

please, come back and haunt me

I need that same old bedtime song to sleep.