nothing to conceal if I do not believe I have turned into a *sham sort'a people

I wish I felt the warmth of love

the suggestion of surrender

the confort of being understood

not because I do not have such nice pleasantries

no joy survives the erosion of denial by the betrayal of not believing

what you know or should have known (better in the past, surely darling)

 

For those reproach

If I do not go that's my fault, that's a fact eh?

Do allow me to be in the wrong and concede me the opportunity

To slowly get out of this situation

Don't face a man getting older succumbing to temptation 

to trust the leap before he could reach for what's unseen.

__________________________________________________________

Malady a state of being

how foolish of me

A sight of raw disconfort, pouring unearth

Undead, bent and awash with rain breaking it down

Above water, slippery dreamcatcher

capturing words unspoken that ring hurtly true

Setting alarms loathed and quite problematic

deadly by design and my heartstrings part of the canvas

Irritating, damm allergies come alive

A bad melody stuck on repeat

Loop and round you and me reflection

of hacking at what's close and dear

Venture a fragile familiar routine

A to B passing cliffts and clouds towards dying

Feet firmly on pavement on an incline, necessary ascension

Complaining borrows weight off my venomous veins

Ethanol an interaction facilitator, can't boil high enough

Gaze, stare, generate a spark by willpower (or dynamite)

One can wander, dream, implode:

Love spewed outwards

Clicking the wrong tune, permeating the skin

the ground, the very earth that serves Finite

Humble, sustaining the burden

Of the continuum at ample depth

Ants and giants thread different sights

Soon to discover a blood trail shining blue

May us turn to bone dust and dissolve gently father.

___________________________________________________________________

A weapon does not grant more safety

than rules cut vice, sin and grandeur

In days, weeks and years invested in the imprisonment 

of both good and worse (off) men (mostly)

Taint this river red with the cruel realization

Of faithless flesh, worn off instincts and little to gamble for

 

for those above reproach

in the colder nights

If I do not go that's my fault, is that a fact?

Do allow me to the in the wrong and concede me no sympathy

To grief the earning of responsability of running into a wall

nose bloody, all sorts of aching and a pulsing sense of relief

Face first and turned blue with fear of what's to come (so petty)

be it divine or hellish torment hold your words wisely

Puzzling to hold dear this space: Silence

To embrace what's to come, disconfort routine

I shan't forget nor forgive

I allow my betters that gracious grace and hold spite

in raw undeniable amazement.

men couldn't see

straight

what aught the ghost to do

and thats an escape

never taught letters

ought to write better

a childish drag of

feet, agitated by desolation

confusion, despair

next to me.

 

theatre of war 

thought versus instinct

the nerve

the need lingers

in naked splendor

machine cog exposed

rusts easily

men are reborn instead

fuse metal to flesh

security engaged, the chain is off

patience depleted

the devil is near

to laughter

the greatest of

devices:equalizer

to the plenty equilibrium (a game)

to the merry ammunition (tremble in fear)

to the few scarce hope (to chain oneself)

find fault below, He appears

abound Seasons to naivety

all aboard, I repeat, I insist

I must oblige, make it plain

irregardless of quantity

of teeth, shaved clean and straight

choice cut words

opportunity censor. Silence contempt

Join in: coats by the door.

deeply unsatisfied

jammed my little toe at the door now they are split, torn and swolen

all kinds of ugly inside out covered in a disgusting solution

a bad omen to reject the vile opportunity for canibalism

wishing I suppose to become something else than a charade at peace

I read something soleem and truly out of reach as often books can

magicate to those with far more time than contempt at hand

war that what may become of broken men driven to follow a cruel design

men with two faces, that which they must live with

and that which they shall die with and slammed I may be into that forbidden wall

glasses dissecating my eyeline, actively, as the iris becomes less human

limps that do not obey nor perform or taste the same

a bitter truth hard to swallow but I shall try all the same.

the beaten tried path feels runny and unsatisfying

powerless to call it time, sat on a clift admiring the scenery

the fragility of flesh seduced by wind, secured by rope and gravity

dance in sexual harmony and I am afraid to say I didn't catch what you said

my mind drifted elsewhere before I realized I did not care

pause to hold and magnify the duration, the worship of the whoreson

a mistake not easily changed, bend

trailing hair and face as if to deny and absorb obssession that shan't burn easily

"I miss the way you say my name 

The way you bend the way you break 

Your makeup running down your face 

The way you fuck, the way you taste"

 

the scab soons recedes into new flesh pink skin

what a waste, irritating, positively insulting

to the blood pool running down the drain

swarming the sewers, clearing the limescale

old friends go to war seeing red

no getting away caught inbetween

mismatch of socks, disgrace

sore eyes, socket bloated

the eye that could not be saved

caved in, gravity took hold

misery has us running circles

not always

the hammering will cease

be the last resort

or a falling of pieces a siege

 

of willpower

if the devil whispers

my lips follow.

matchbox

a lit match burns bravely 

a sublime tone to echo all the others

past and discarded, returned to the box

used and new, fresh ready and awaiting

at the hour of need, darkness

thunder or otherworldy events robbed us of electricity

that fundamental right and privilege of mankind

a candle alone will not suffice nor strive child of mine

can't you see? why does the nostalgia depict narrow eyes

and a frame of deep dark green in the dark

a flood rests by the tongue at bay, at sea, underneath

at ease we float between too nervous to escape

what was perceived as a fatal mistake flashed off frame

now clearer, now understood

rather the tribulation Must be made to fit the narrative

to encapsulate the lungs we breath and speak

make Heaven one and the same

boring that...

~there was a Vigil

spontaneous they tell me

'felt like turning up'

'it was the right thing to do'

'what...if...yeah...'

 as the pieces fall into place the calling

and echo ring louder

to those determined to listen.

not all open doors are an invitation

nor barriers for they simply exist and resist

the decay of aging and the heat of pyres and hells desires

to bath and partake of the communal serenety is a privilige

indeed just as the puzzle fits so naturally though the edge border and mire

are cut prior and curved smooth to prevent further bleeding.

tragedy summons shared hysteria. I want it now.

I can't read my own hand palm ~ does it matter either way > lightness of breath is a marathon runner young at heart still.

had a nice due not quite a candlelight dinner

by the season of Fall we got even

the World overall did not change

there or here the metrics local, small

miniscule to those around and ahead

I drink a singular glass of milk, a pint really

at dawn to buzz off the ache on my jaw

thats a lie of course, I grow bored

and yet instilled so deeply is the habit

the destain a mess I can frame inside my brain

as my index finger pursues the rim of the typical glass I

contemplate the shine of what I am told is white cow milk

watered down to taste before serving and finding it pleasing

either way finding pulse in the pulpe taking swig after swing

short of a slam nor sham, all good it does taste like milk

I do do wonder

what is weight and why am I drawn to the causality of futility

just as rings permeate the inner glass, they remain NOT a window

to my soul or otherwise a confirmation of my bad decisions (I am only human and therefore I am afraid)

awash and sat straight and upside down the glass

is not faded to be a tool of my nourishment nor evidence of my sins (let it be, may it be so)

nor is preference for a bitter drag on my throat a price to pay (just as I suck my front teeth to prevent desolation from escaping//running away before I too have grown old)

to retire at the right time, having found something to care about

so so picky

my hand palms do remain familiar, for now

may that feeling linger long and ring true

for I have need(s)

aches and burdens preciously mine

however careless. a patchwork hideous to pursue at the fingertips

coarse for we fucked it up

wet for past the drowning at the holy river

it was left to dry atop stone by the elements and blessed with rain

I knock in my skull: there is no answer,

that leaves me deeply unsatisfied

uoah the pursuit of peace of mind suggests

a life sentence.

I had more fun in the swings as a child

my best memories really

being given milk by my mother

that memory leaves me deeply satisfied.

if forgiveness is a choice

my condolences to the mirror's edge for it shall taste

like barber wire slashing belief and deceit blazing

the wishes of that same candlelight dinner as the dawn returns

apparations are not real that must be clear as believers tremble in fear

a trick of the light matching eyes with the past, deluge the flood of a broken spell meant to fade

a persona I forgot to replace.

a nickel can get you a ride in the carossel

no matter what we do the timer shifts us though we stand in place

we are taken aboard and discarded just the same as we departed though within we know this

to taste untrue and that weight us down, suffering in mourning silence

in Uni I adopted a Dove or rather a Dove saved my life twicefolded

today a Crow with the same shine engages with the same grace

humans see what they want to see assimilating memory with the futility of expressive eyes

should I imagine animals can speak or reply?

hanging totems and scribing runes in the skin

as you were my dear:

must it be? it must be: it must be...

shift is a key

tripping over oneself head trapped in a darker place

misty and torment these darker clouds that both echo

and find space to spin and replace the light between the familiarity

of where I have been and thought I knew, understood and cherished

a breathtaking unseattling floor shaking instance of realization

that what I once loved, not the feeling replaced but that passion has moved on

to the ark of memory and recollection.

to the confinements of fragment no longer certain and freely given

as if flanked it does not last nearly as precisely as one wishes

nor is it owned exclusively, that much I understood

suppose I forgot every wish and promise

what's left to abdicate and mark testimony

flesh that knows no sin is but a shell

beneath the good action a reaction, new found purpose

or a flood of belonging//lounging for a recipient of match

lovers extend and interlock hands

parents create new limbs and teach them to walk, think and communicate

everyone else waves accordingly

let us keep the freak show to a content minimum

branch and achieve growth before the confinement of walls smoother

what's left of my continuum awake (and) otherwise.

(if physical health exists, so does the emotional fulfillement

and music transcends all three including the spiritual necessity

to tap into the tingle of a door ill designed and jammed tight)

unclear

lost all my composure

a fever of chemical combustion

bodily revolution exasperated at the arrival

of dawn, a sign that the spell has been not lifted

records of dental affairs and blood trails

to conjure wonderlust and love oneself

is a wonderful feeling indeed.

a fish once caught withdrawn, taken

out of the element where it belongs

shortcomings in a plate, grilled and broken

from spine that still combat the predator

stuck in my throat making us equally

out of breath and deadly bored

with what has escaped from this day

synthesis of flavour

whatever makes it worthwhile

to satisfy the fantasy of eternal pleasure

such fun.

cannot shake out the infectious status of paralysis

a flood of choice, given enough time

desire to be an insect crushed by the roadside

be by pyre or transfused by reason

condition: terminal; origin, human.

at a glance there are no roots in this tree

not within reach

to carve a path by means of mere fingers

hands like claws, broken nails, tore skin

achieving quite little in fact

hope is what is caved first.

i heard they killed the sun

dearest star sabotaged two years off retirement

a tragedy and a freakshow, a cane crushing an open jar

an open window is not an invitation to fly friend

i wont stop you if you try though

to let go is a lesson and a testament to the ability

to care, to share, to kill the Sun.

i don't know what i am doing

what has crawled out the skin

was not healing but acceptance

rejected by the body akin to disease

oily, slimey and quite frankly stinky

an obscene solution laced with vandalism

violence to the people atop the mid-sized donkey

child I barely distinguise tree from stump, all the pretty colours

are anothers to name and frame

to capture axe by split on the table, desk and chair

do not forget the closet, wardrobe and cabinet

made especially for your mother

how to envelop and elupe bad decisions

rejected by the atribute of harmful domain

appropriation and self-reflection a trap on the lake

where crystal devours humans. 

improvise, adapt, for the sake of circunstance

we dance under the moonlight, sheltered from bad decisions

adulthood starts when you come to realize

there is only lending never a prize

replacing the protection of guardians for the betrayal of allowing the outside

to step inside and murk the place abouts.

heresy is neither thought nor false prayer

there ain't a cloud of difference in my position

a held scream a stain in the throat, quirky and in the way

of peace of mind when I sit down.

 I once had a date witnessing a live autopsy, my idea

 we clicked, laughted and walked away that day

a mistake meant to fade away, a grave to entertain on an otherwise dull convencional sequence

of words to pass the time, chopping at the letters carelessly because

look at my palm and see hell in tarnation

pinch, slap and bite away at the dry skin

gone astray, numb and torn into pieces that pretend to mend

the fear behind the smile in your face

how to reawaken the warrior buried under the fairytale

the charm has been dispelled by the brutal reality of the mess

we pretend to just ignore as if Time would stand down on the aftermath

of the miscalculation, immense, fruitful and worthy

getting over the ledge and trying again.

mimic you mocker of the link regional to the wound

doctors say it costs little to hold faith

options limited when the hounds ate grandma

do gravediggers ever tire of separating dirt to make space

does the blade now dull, rusty and discarded find solace

in the crystal water of the lake, refuge at the bottom

whatever boomerang effect trials my patience beyond the path of reason

I command thy seize momentum and catapult yourself beyond the walls of treason

and leave me be.

surely even gods grow tired of toppled empires and twisted tongues

bifurced badly and uneven, enerving all to see

blacken tongue, tv static. effortless desire to be anything other than human

disfigures the happy faces

waving back, at me

through a cracked screen

they are so thoughtful

on a loop repeating a speech

of parasocial brew

a deadly cocktail, attire and regal format

blade in the ribs; poison for dessert

no farewells or goodbyes for everyone dies

in the end. in this perfect story no ones worth it

seemingly summoned into being

a foot on a landmine afraid of running into paradise

I dreamt of Buddha buried in white crystal sand

the gravitas a spear through the reset of misty rain in a sad day

a walk by the park in source for reasons

to contemplate what power contained in breathing

can produce the euphoria born in Eden

the bitterness of salt awash this island

has us preserved in volcanic tomb

Julian the whale a titanic watchtower, both guardian and villain

demon and angel for his belly contains sustenance and grave

never truly an empty space for refuse

nor salvation for the drown rejoin the cycle

anew, hard to realize the release is not found in a crux

but a coffin instead, name engraved my heartbreak.

cemented the design meant to unfold

swallowing whole the specie that aware

thought itself special and unique

a flawed logic self-imploding from inside

an avalanche of tremendous conseguence

alas, in the spectral of the aftermath the individual

does not matter but should we split the atom

we will all die

as babies we shan't strive

nor survive without a nurturing kind guidance

a blessing now forgone, out of reach

I never understood why I felt inapt

felt broken and less than human

I now remember I went into hiding 

and gone back to sleep.

do without ice-tea

recess avent healing minds eyes set on fire

atop the empire a pyre of wires and desires

feline presence, holy mirror of mine bestow wisdom of old

upon the youth of yesteryear, those meek lost lamp and sheep alike

I pray I figure out where did I go wrong in places I walked by, far and away

in the lessons we exchanged, gave away and simply displaced: momentarily.

like fleeting summer scalds, unlearnt scars to bear in strives of passion

skinship of friendship a sail that dependent of wind and matching

what exactly, I could not trace the relevance and yet

undoubtly a duel of might, wills and corny jokes

has occured and faced due judgement in the arena

rocking up to the joint waiting for that something something

to whisk our spirits and take our breath, surprised it hasn't happened yet

maybe I forget. 

elated, elastic, unmotivated occupier of this space, don't watch closely it dulls the mind.

a complete waste of time.

________________________________notquitehalf__________________________________________

a chanced talk trapped in a call mid queue to buy something I did not really want

but nevertheless could not breakaway from the day, a mistake

turnover the wardrobe, knock it over all the same

by inaction, attentive devotion to a reluctant

war against oneself. loud and messy, twitching

a pending appointment, a misterious pain

glassdoors offer no privacy nor security

flesh pressed on connections, against fragments alive and bright

awake, flying, lodged deep, slicing and floating atop clouds and dreams

in dilligence they work whose sleepy cranky head, should we

follow. I volunteer to reimagine the wires connecting the chain reaction. 

shapeless, within, as they should for they belong here.

what I conjure as my realm

of wanted confort, normality and peace, it takes a while

not as long as to take, in, the sights, endless as they are pretty

wide as they are grand these roads suspended and free.

requests cutting deeper, heavier

are perceived threats to my enemies

a crystal clear blow out

forest of silent hunters on the prowl, beware do take care

(shared) co-existance a living hell of sorts round these parts

trail a scent of 'over 'nothings' a tell tale of fundamentally disagreeing

a thing of the heart I 'sppose

crime tomb of mine, of speedy stories that serve as time gauge, metrics and odd devices

prison to hold a secret, atop of my tongue and its an intoxicating feeling

freedom joined to the rotten crawling on the walls

loss tearing at the flesh never doing it on my own

a speedy overtake with family and friends, no less!

words alone cannot contain this lukewarm room mood

a worm infesting the ear canal

neutral unequal, bored and pressing

the strangle hold of waiting for the something else

the good change on a coin flip

                                                                    the usurpor of a bonbon

by a depressed, suicidal

housewife

locked by choice

on a lovely villa

ample garden

laughing, annoyingly energetic

children assault her senses

on the daily

some her own, by the way

sipping on a bottle

a call to the infancy

in need of nurture

red wine and expensive

bon-bons

chocolate, delicate liquor infused

chocolate.

a phantom whose gown

barely contain the lament

and feminine form

trapped, drapped and neglected

openely kind, in need of a shoulder to cry on

I slashed by childlike knee open, go go fast

or so I recall, and do hard as I try

I wish I knew better in the joys

of my childhood if,

a friend's mother and a dear crush

gone at 43

why in this page, and why now

what fragments got chopped

and otherwise embelished

or flowery regarded as a cover-up

for stories are shared

 never ours.

there is a painting above my head, below the ceiling. it is very dear to me.

what if all we were meant to be has gone to waste

would have that been a betrayal or sorts

the path of resignation swarming my brain

oh woes the garden has gone to waste

anger has bled the forest dry and the rye

the grain, seed and food of the very despair

feeding my death of peace of mind, deeply dissatisfied

not good enough and I am to blame

the nails do not cut it, anymore

they do not pierce the 

itch sustained, the avalanche at odds with my throat

stuck.

waves of heat play fiddle with my body

car headlights flashing, it is not a valentine ballet

methodical gestures. shades betray my vision

test my resolutions and mortal attachments

in equal realizations of calling for

satisfaction.

too many secrets

I forgot to keep track of which end is that way

or the getaway

locked in this place doomed to be

the humble ground embracing us

feeding the cycle anew

from atop the peaks the weight crumbles

closer to the Good, The Light and the Love

fuller from companionship of ghosts

of this I have little doubt

in this painting, above my head

below the ceiling in this box

a sailor sets out to sea

as the sunset bridges the currents and calls it quits

perhaps one day his anchor will find a use still

I pray it will be better that way. 

slow on the figuring it out phase

a phrase to inspire, a dead given riot

alarming motivating a whipping is

a bloody mess that soups up by the spoon

a bowl to covet the driving seat

the throne of kings and queens,

a mercy those beneath despair for

down below underground screams

go unheard and forgotten

lost souls to the pyre

dark clouds absorb my guiding light

hard to tell off trees from walls

in this modern existance of spectrums

the countdown to the end of despair is nay or so

the carrot strings me along, in promise and hope

a betrayal of sorts this existance of possibilities

as if owed anything discountent seeps on me skin

my bones, my mind, my soul.

in shambles and hurt

acting out of bounds, for duty binds us to the path

forcefully, do the right thing

expecting others to follow suit in lament

gift us all that we need despite it colapsing the house

we built slowly, manually, in past times of hipnotizing glares

the lent is twisted, feels like the jade has grown dull

to the experienced eye.

to rebuild anew takes a sense of wonder

astray my stars aline in wander instead. 

a wicked thing this

there, a last resort

an exchange of glares, held poorly

hand over the other, mismatch

in tone, shape, colour

as sweat invades the soleem dryness

of skin and awkwardness second to that one

within

ribbons and empty nests

the mating call has seized the essence

of being out of time.

 

I recall being made by fever, a glaring siren

and being full of shit.

needle in the bum, kicked a nurse in the chin and swore to do it again

my childhood is full of spurts of blurs and sirens

a dragged fairytale gone astray, cigarette and whole before anyone relevant took notice

from the sea of stars we step atop the cars the future heads at speed

no stops, no trades, no firsts only last calls and bottoms up your turn.

 

you know you are boring when every song tastes like the last

because they are the only and same

constant nagging voice in the mirror

only you have no mirror the room is dark and you jumped off the window

an encased, lodged really, glass atop the nose caters to the window like a pendulum

blood drifts, filling the space

if I am born but am not told where to go

where should I dive towards in this imperfection ocean of souls. 

the duality of knowing how unwell ecstasy may crumble

remnants of perception interjected inference that the Moon lays not still

but distance irregardless of the evil eye cast away without need for a sacrifice

may the virgins live another day.

a bonfire is a entanglement cut loose

loath consumed experience partakes of a dislocated jaw

pull my finger, sliced it off the bone

remove my eyes glued tight,

chanced acid interactions with the holy book

my word is no good.

but the way I tremble, giggle and stare

got gotten by a hook, open veins

overdosed on ether

all gone in empty seconds, all good.

a flood cannot be contained by the sand, alone

nor mere taunts from an umbrella a true tried test

the rage of the rising tide a chokehold.

putrid, beyond reparations

no console in broken walls

mold steals health, token purpose, put it to sleep

predictable sadness is just as dense

as the certainty of dust to settle

from compression do precious diamonds originate

but so do bread crumbs and bruises.

in a friend we rebuild a better memory as

a shoulder steadfast holds the tide,

allow the flood to run its due course

far more travelled roads have caused more experienced better men

to go amiss 

little use is what I learn, give, distribute and facilitate

at wonderfall, wonderlust, no wonder eh.  

play therapy friend

is a wonderful thing indeed

(if we are born able to swim

how can I drown

least I forget and pretend to be

indifferent and make a mess(y)

adults hate it (in truth it isn't worthy to recall atributes that may find no use)

ignite the phosphorus to ignite the torch, the symbol of finding the answer.

solely the earthlinked gods are violence (nor)* do they grow less greedy, gressy and petty in man bled Eden. 

the wax crumbling off my ear is not remedy but ash off my soul.

It came to me in a dream

to me, it came (in a dream)

a Dream came To me Translucent in A carps Scale

in fairness not a lively bunch

the dream cloudy and blurry, now and then (perhaps) to the dreamer

a call(going), a summoning, a lovers serenate, a sight of the divine to turn us On

a blasphemy in need of statement before I burn in the cross an innocent man (in yearning earning rev)

the bones a product of burden in need of dusting (off)

co-product of a missionary that lost his faith

if I dream often I do not indeed recall, much.

if at all but, and, iF, If, IF........................................................................................................................

Compile indecision like the indecency of a pile of cadavers up the road traveller

in an open grave outside the gates on Judgement Day we too shall castaway, adrift, 

still hopeful for a taste, weeping, a trail damp in the face of

a starving man is desperate

peckish men are petty and calculative

in what devious ways to get away with just a bite for a snack

trivialized taste, peaceful easier times adrift

where prey moves slowly and means little

leaving narrow chances to swallow whole those that escape the fire

a class act endeavor

now endearing, then at terms grim, backs turned.

if I give it all up and take nothing

what will the fire purify?

in the bonfire I fell, victim of a prank

immerging unscathed, spared, triumphant:

megalomania is a state of mental illness

and I am thefore very fucking sick.

Panic (all aboard)

roguish smile, mercenary employee on the take

of both sides, equally distrusting of dreams and

narrow escapes in alleyways and turncoats

prime reason why he turned round the bend

(at)least the explosion and the process took him first.

 

a bad omen sour milk, memories of pain and going too far

I once told my mother if the Moon was made of cheese I would surely take a bite

but give her an equal part and with the rest of my bounty replace

the poor hunger with renewed energy to try to discover splendor

the silliness and boldness of youth puts a smile on my face

taking me away from darker places,

in innocence and raw curiosity unsuppressed  we put the Lord good work

even those that come from nothing can pursue the finer lines

in the business of wealth controversy makes for a great alibi

the disguise balancing the books opens no room for concessions

if to hell I must go my eyelids I must burn so as to testify

in what I see, entirely, in absolute distain to the sensibilities that attempt to cut above

the rest as if the bottom line does not sustain the weight of the imperative rule

and that shit is just one step too far past the limit. 

they make friendship navigate the counted seas, aknowleging a shared ownership of what we barely understood 

can relay loneliness by means of struggle ("a shoulder is better than a knot")

whoever can relate? or not

in time of need a friend is precious indeed,

just as salt conserves the flesh and amplifies the pain in the wound

so do fleeting words escaping from the chasm of unfortunate unplanned events

such as words we put no weight upon nor give much thought

for truth be told it matters not what, who, why, whenever it may come to be

we do be wrestling with being misundersood at best of times

irregardless of creed, want or action

proactive or otherwise walled by choice.

spoiled by desire I suppose.

do all plans meow as feral as the neighborhood cats in season?

spring is the blossoming season and for need of change

we pit brother against mother and hope they both fall deeper than the point of salvation

for confronting the result dissolves both resolve and unsolved guilt trips hipnotized otherwise,

just as well the pitfalls are plenty and the wine has run dry after bitter and stale; That is not a metaphor.

M.A.D

being purposely unconfortable is a game (to me)

it provides reasoning (artificial) but the rain and danger

are very much real and these tribulations

may they rain firm on me, confort me dearly.

chancing it hook by crook, each lie a seed to sow disaster and seal my fate:

may a wolf carve my skin and crow reject my flesh afterwards

in the rules the outcome is unimportant and the winner an afterthought

glasses a forbidden item for vision and clarity

take away from the meaning and ideals

in this too rain is the superior element

a pleasure to meet you, that much is certain

weathered by circunstance, some call it fate

denying actions that drove them to darker shores

where good men have gone lost and yet

I was not good to start with. 

I was born by accident, late and broken

imperfect and unurtured, unable to breath

man was not made to be sustained by machine

civilization has denied me natural selection

evolution without reason is not paradise

I believe I was saved by a guardian angel

and I have the impression I saw her before,

and the empthiness of having seen her leave

only extends my angish and desire

only in the ocean I feel safe

in the weightlessness of a receiving wave

do my arms feel content and under no duress

water does not bite nor burn

in the scent of salt I feel reset and free

content, I feel returned to Eden.

Today I had a dream, no, a Vision

a callback, a memory reborn, found, returned

I saw, met, by chance, waiting for me

a friend, once lost, do my eyes decieve me or did my faith grown back?

have I gone mad? why do I sing to the rain, the droplets echoes of a childhood summer fever in grief

in the wrong month, wrong time, mismanaged accidental foggy spaces

no one told me where to go so I suppose I stumbled

upon a deep dive in the bottom of an ocean

that does not push forward, whose receding waves and low tide

confirm a link that familiar can only, truly, be a projection, a blur, a clock gone full circle.

never mind, the pyre spare no fools and smoke travels higher than my desires. 

polishing my nails (what remains spared by teeth)

what is love but a social construct

a divine mandate

and oblivion incarnate

 

a painkiller numbing the hip caved in,

the nag in my shoulder and soul

the snake coiled around my throat and tongue

above all, the mistress on my brow raising waves and doubt

itchy irritating tick on my eye lids, stoic stature of held nerve

or blurry visions of words exchanged,

hipnotic rain and touch dissolving (acid or acidic cup of coffee that haunts the moon,

a danger reflected in sound of promises certain to gut you like a dog, smarter than humans

they can smell the wrong in you and me, of that I am certain darling.

a war whose soldiers surrender

is a given,

music the evolution and feeling

a mutual agreement meant to grow

and go blunt by wear and chapter

living history, family binded and made alike

to give, willingly time is the ultimate currency

a fable that Does sound too good not to abdicate of Grace

does a candle now used, now extinct

severed by lack of head, no teeth nor sleep

for things cannot breath and that irritates me (deeply)

as stone trembles but holds, firm

my life does not in fact come tumpling down that mountain nor cliff (what a shame really)

the rope steady, my friend hands trusthworthy and we

yes, We perservere.

despite setbacks and minor hearty felt burns.

 

 these memories are all I got left

they brought me here to this moment

through raw faith they conceded me passions so I might burn brighter in those instances

so as to immolate through an uncaring frail state. 

 

I developed a coping superpower years ago when the hurt got too heavy to carry

and fearful my void calling to dive right in would stragle me into my grave

I managed to alleviate the outbursts by navigating the page, looking the other way

"But that's okay, I guess today I'll care a little less."

and I truly do, 

for as long as we do not interlock eyes you do not exist, stored away for a rainy stormy day

I do not look pensative friends, you have been fooled

I am meditating on the void:

all nothingness, always empty.

 

if they remember me, I won't be spared 

what a disaster, the hand that made it broke

in need of mediating investing in myself,

I wish you would be

happy,

everlasting after. 

resolution (revolution) faded to grey

only a fool for the concept

inept, foolish and in a blur, tricky

once a year we plan our demise, erase

completly, without a shadow of a doubt, lies

so sparkly, if you cannot see it too must be fake

ramble, a throne admid the rubble, not making much sense

what we do not understand is poison

acid disintegrating connections

on a roll, on a move, bullshit. 

a bullet in a head leaves a cavity the survivor must bear

a hallow tunnel under the moonshine representing conviction, I suppose

a martyr is a call for remorse but forceful, it cannot serve for redemption

annihalation looks us both in the eyes

a gold vein poisons this land, let us keep this (an open) secret

a hidden well bittersweet viper scalding venom

truth be told we cannot hide who we are

so pray tell me why do I felt the need to blink twice

in order to cut off the darkness and adjust to the singing

the ringing and the drumming, pride oh pride

If I am to be lost never found why must I also

be the last one 

to know.

 hurtful to see others sleep

to become aware of this soleem instance of loliness eats away

at a craving that chokes me out

bone fever to a boil that translates to, towards, two.

_____________________________________________________________________________

what is willpower failed by

conjecture a spectre

hope the nectar

does ambition ever run dry

if the flame awoken, caught desire

as does the pond of wisdom nurture

a tell, a gift

poison those that mix with the same ol' feeling

of experience, doomed to repeat the stagnated

mistakes of yesteryearm a jest, a heist still warm.

however, apart, fragments of stubborness complement who I am

the stentch of numeracy aplenty, divinitation a hypothesis

alined, laced even with protocol clause

opportunistic to the last, crawling before we crawl

screaming drowns rational speech, flag burn brighter above a coffin.

routine induces nausea do this ocean of boredom afoot

from tick to palpitation it sinks down my throat

leaving no space for colour, all grey, all struggle.

to the spoken word we snarl and then

drop dead.

if written this drawnings are not enough, do not call

required tribulation today

mutual referral in the continued message,

trying to be someone else.

__________________________________________________________________________

there must a mixture in the water

malignat by nature, heavy enough to hold on

incapable of moving on, villainy is infectious 

anger is a seed that strangles my blood pulse

no longer an ocasional anomaly, everday at dawn

a sensibility, invisible shackle, cage and taste

of burnt hot ash molding the inside, pulging good and evil without impunity

second thought or pause

a walking cadaver biting his time,

a conscious to spare that weights him down.