No Mar No To

He wouldn’t convince the time machine to take me back to her, I have only contempt for his refusal, and I would take his life,
With a spoon,
And a knife,
And eat the remains of a good mind, that of which kept me from her horrors, no feast, at least, I’d eat.
He talked to me about my tomorrow, and highlighted my recently dimmed yesterdays of discomfort and twisted harps, the discord she would further disorganize, and feed from the chaos that sanded my hopeless bones,
Much a feast, of gnashing teeth to a sullen beat,
Melodies of distress and undone promises she couldn’t keep,
It took her one-hundred thirty nine weeks,
To devour the whole corpse.
The time machine spoke to me, in a dream outspokenly it seemed…to have created a black hole which its gravity would pull and yank on my light-less soul into a future not yet.
I passed her pictures on the way, knocking over tables and frames,
Breaking glass and chains,
Tainting carpet with blood stains,
I no knowledge that the future would drag stiff, balling my black tank top with its grip,
Cutting my leg deep with the nightstand tip,
And insulting me the whole way,
Injures of my journey I’d thought never go away,
Enemies of my quest I’d thought to never sway,

I know lay in future’s arms,
Questioning why her heart beats so sporadically…


They call us indestructible, avoidant of the overt ideal of our mortality, a mortality that we share. They are a hypersensitive people, they can smell the blood coursing through our bulbous veins, they can see the throbbing skin on our chest incasing our straining hearts. They can see the fatigue in our legs as we end our days and enter our cars. These people are intelligent, they know when can be touched, they know we can bleed. Fixate over the pleasant fiction that there is a human being that exists that triumphs all forms of harm, our sentinel to knight us from what may intend to do us ill. These people are weak, these people are desperate, these people need to be saved. Their lives run in impending circles accomplishing the standardized, hour after hour. They rest at night, in their quadruple gated communities, with their forced smiles and perfectly crafted nuclear families. They wake, same breakfast, take their children to school, arrive at wonderful work at the same time, raise their computer chairs to the same height, and arrange their desks in the same manner as yesterday. These people do not think we are indestructible because of its logical significance. These people think we are indestructible because we are skewed, we are abstract, we do not standardize the chaotic and burden functionality with identical pieces to turn the proverbial money machine. We are different, therefore in their untrustworthy minds, indestructible. It’s not so bad being a superhero.


The champion ghost,
Up close,
I couldn’t see her,
She thirsted,
I refused to feed her.

I extended my hand through her hollow chest,
The moisture of her atmosphere stung at best,
The old poison I couldn’t breath,
Produced from the heart I wouldn’t feed,
Produced from the heart I often need,
To replenish my daily desire to grieve,
Her condition from my own inaction,
I keep reaching inside her spirit to grab a reaction,
She wouldn’t move,
I searched for her better,
She wouldn’t improve,
Petrified just stand and stare,
And focus on how we’re getting each other no where.

I recessed, and matched her frequency,
I noticed she hasn’t been saying much recently,
I figured the cat had her tongue,
Or I’ve bent her energy until she had none,
I waited,
And watched-
A word trickle down her lip, and stopped,
Before it hit,
The ground,
The awful sound,
Of shattered speech,
Right by her feet,
It harmed my ears,
It harmed the peace,
Unquiet decrease-
Of her and me,
Day in day out,
I need to shout,
She’d break like glass,
She takes a gasp,
Of air at last,
The storm has passed,
The awful point,
The awful past…