mother I have had a terrible night (and little confort after a bath for agitation invites madness)

dread trickles down

a thread feeling alien and abnormal

at odds with contentment, it haunts me

both awake and when I try to sleep

where to start, what is new beginnings

I was told to walk up a faint road

akin to responsability but which falls short

of a stolen reality, passed around like a drug

overdosing in digital regicide I colapse

little shine in these stars as of late,

idols  too break if dropped at thy feet

heads will shatter and pages once ripped

will go missing and the search for want of 

shall drive us mad, ever so fucking mad.

 no matter what I take, it feels off and the years

fill up, goubling sand like they want a need to kill

whoever threads the same fine line as me

deserves to be told the truth

and yet, it doesn't quite matter

I think I know an aproximation, 

a fig fragment fractured in dust and atom

together, bind and at odds with one another

in a pathway towards decay and quantum solace

from where I stand willed by bone toll alone

I feel I realize that what I am not

enveloped by a blanket sitched of what I shan't

name least it brings me cardiac unrest or once

calls upon my spirit to flee and join the tide, that fleet

well above the prison of bone and curses of breath and worry

relentless and made to suffer. 

leer and peer through the veil of systems

command the abyss to move along

I do not feel better despite the breakaway

a near death experience cannot translate thought-fly

irregardless of drug intake, they do not grant your a sweeter embrace

just as well to mean well, that's fleeting and ever

changing: one in a million baby is a statistic

and I do not feel any better for it.

a clockwork operator can design the device

but shouldn't,

a human can interrupt the course of living,

but shouldn't for this darker chapter will too pass

in the inevitability that transforms gratitude and misfortune alike

I am therefore reminded in the first chemical opening

of heart to fragile youthful love

to be called the one, I repeat it, the one

does an awful lot of reparation to otherwise disaster

for this I am convinced the young deserve their second chances.

Pray (everyday - but not for me for I hate all mannerism and celebrations)

Pray send a tale

Befitting the enactment

Of the exchange

Between Sinner and flame

Do we do what we do

In reverence or fear

Portraying a stage

Or as per cogs inside a machine

We interchange motion

Without emotion

What was lost in this interaction

Frequent alleyways blindly

Unaware what follows beneath,

Senseless castration of character

To choke in regret is

To let go

To abdicate of the indigenous right

That ought to mean something as

Life exits your Vessel

Whose name so longed for dearly

Spilling like Wine over the weary traveller

Anguish and torment, nostalgia and tangent memory

Knee deep, unknown and transparent in hindsight

For those outside the verge of jumping in

Recklessly like a carol travels bard by tongue towards the dearest

Season, every welcoming year

God knows the knock comes along

Regardless of invitation, of that

The tack and tac off no consequence

(Weather) Resistance {FUTILE}

Guilt absorbs neither the weak

Or the dead regardless of the time

Of the year (or how tall the tale drags)

Enter

Suspend

A while

Rest your dry lips in

A bluer portrait still

Do stand still.

______________________________________

Love is not (only) appreciation

And yet (now) I wish I

Had told her (I) adored franticly

All at once (like) an avalanche, a tidal wave

(What) a catastrophe to lament if, but, nay

To a bitter end, twisting at both ends about spilled wine

I (never) brought, gave it up

I (was) cherish the company, not the drink

We (meant), well... a state and device to garnish the answer

Tribulations (to), sensations, experiences

Hand on pulse (be) come as confirmation, not salvation

Conversations overboard, fragmented/twisted

______________________________________________

If; Lost, at sea

I don’t speak Found, drowned

Do! I exist? Twins, departed

How much worth? Grief, anchors

Stock measured in gold! Did all, they could

Does it really matter.... Did their best, they did

Mayweather fairytale I believe them, I just don’t care

A seasonal dread set to rest The wheels may well turn, annually

One more oh, no-oh-no On, repeat

My better half was, swallowed whole

By destiny, what a life

Why should they, in turn, part for me

a siren turns a petal into liquor,

hard to swallow, making your insides jelly hollow

this fire does little to medicate my brain and numb the pain

I hate all mannerism and expressions of celebration

equally, unfairly.