Sky

There are certain platitudes unfamiliar to the raging optimists,

With emotion, they dislocate their arms stretching their palms to dry sky,

Dripping eyes black spots, sun front, blue backdrops,

Go blind, go blind,

Won’t stop, can’t stop,

Staring,

Strict, a very strict bearing.

 

The sky forgets,

Believe the destination to which you would like your praises to reach is fixed,

Raving optimists,

The good still exists,

Good still persists,

What ever I am convinced-

Has taken ahold,

Raise my hands, burn my skin bold,

Burn my skin gold,

The story my sin told,

To me,

For me, to recognize my actions are free,

From me.

 

My fucking arms hurt,

My elbows pop,

My tilted neck’s sore,

Up, up and away,

One day, not too far from now,

My dedications will drift away until the sky cries back.

Advertisements

Thaw

It would hurt me to see that sun I’ve run from for so long,

…cold heart, a burning back,

A burning lack of visibility of what dreams would occur if I bound myself to my happiness,

I used to fear being happy.,

Searching corridors and springing around corners for the next disappointment,

That time more personal, that time harsher,

I would tremble with my inability to accept the rapid upheaval of emotion unearthed from my tormented past,

I would keep myself attached to my twisted upbringing and spin out of control for months on end,

I would often fantasize about the glory in the end-

To the swinging pendulums beating at my ribs.

 

I used to scream when I needed to be heard,

Poisoning my statements instead of polishing my words,

Unwanted attention struck my tender back like loose lashes of slave whips,

With each crack, I would weep in mind,

Crying tears of thoughts my actions would rebuke.

 

I…had a golden sun holding an unloaded handgun to the back of my head,

It wasn’t the truth in death but the fear of dying dead,

That made me turn around.

 

Infection

I do not think I am prepared for an easy resolution,

I connect problems with complication,

I’ve come to learn that my overactive imagination creates numerous faulty half-assed solutions.

It’s simply misunderstood situations disguised as gut-wrenching plights having me staring at the jet black ceiling in the middle of the night-

Instead of sleeping,

Sometimes I can feel my irrational thoughts creeping up the side of my leg,

And digging holes in my not so whole bed,

I’ll lay on cottage cheese and wake up incomplete,

With the dumbass feeling of unfounded contrition for made up expectations I couldn’t meet.

 

I will wake and stare in the mirror counting the loose strands of my beard to get my mind off the issue,

I would then start picking at the hair, it would bleed a little but somehow get blood everywhere and then I’ll clean it up with toilet tissue,

If you’ve ever cleaned blood from white it does this smear thing that turns the sink pink,

but I left it and carried my virus to work in hopes of infecting my peers with this undefined thinking disease,

The “I can’t stop rapidly blinking disease”,

Like photo copying textbook pages of anxiety with every blink,

I will lasso my peers front heir high horses and they will crumble on the ground,

As I explain my dilemma and watch their smiles contort into frowns,

I am granting them fog and gifting them with confusion about hypothetical problems that technically don’t exist,

I give them a little kiss on their cheeks and send them on their way,

With life-siphoning information that’ll suck the joy right outta their day.

 

I am not required to ask for forgiveness for my actions,

Or their reactions to the stimulus,

I have a criminal’s mind plagued with paranoia and expectations of forever failure…when in fact, failure only takes up around 27 percent of my daily tasks,

If people would just…stop being complicated…I could respect simplicity, but people aren’t simple and I think endless disrespect humanity is disrespectful.

A Snake

If a snake slithers do not question its duplicity,

If it stares you with warmth do not doubt its tendencies to do harm,

 

If the rattle of the rattlesnake shakes do not be surprised of the sting,

If your knees buckle do understand that his poison has made you weak, and your systems will soon follow.

 

Do you feel the basic emotions flooding your nervous system?

It’s the temptation of the unknown,

It’s the aggressive curiosity that curses the wandering mind,

Ensuring you remain blind to the fragility of your condition,

You will always be placed in the position to make the right choice,

It will absolutely always be your decision to break the souls of those who care for you,

And with that awful tunnel vision your support will shatter like glass on the ground before you.

 

You will not be the first devourer, you will not jest the first joke I’ve had the pleasure to laugh at,

I am recognizing a familiarity in areas I would rather be naive,

The snake speaks in a language you want to believe,

But do remember,

A snake is a snake,

And it would not be the snake’s but your mistake,

That would break the hallowed ground we’ve taken years to create,

I pray to God in heaven that you did not soil yourself for a temporary pleasure,

For that is a mindlessness for which I cannot relate…

A snake…is a snake,

So help you God.

 

 

4 Days

Your suspension of belief,

Bring it,

I need no interference,

I can’t think,

With the gods staring down my back-

As I chisel a simple motif,

Into the dim lit-

Corridor who’s face shall shrink,

Once the entire setting goes black.

We need to walk again

Without ridicule,

Into the chest of your devil,

To subdue the pending threat-

You speak highly of.

I promise we are safe,

He cannot hear you here for he cannot reflect within himself,

We are his conscious now,

Let us steer the beast.

Beware,

His demise, is your demise,

And your demise, is my demise,

So be light with your touch and pray we do not become the monster you hate.

Day 1.

I can hear his victim’s cries,

I can see the smirk, in the mirror, to which he sports,

Like a new do of sorts,

Staring his crush in her eyes,

He is not clean.

Day 2.

We fear to feed,

On his innards,

For we will truly be one,

We cannot munch on something he needs,

For all of true progress would be for none,

We must starve.

Day 3.

He hears us,

His breath hath changed,

She prays to gods,

I forget their names,

He is heartbreak,

And he is untamed,

He is unclean,

He is unashamed,

He is always new,

And never the same,

He is heartbreak,

I believe I’ve found his name.

Final Day.

His halls are black,

I cannot see, we cannot see,

The soul light lacks,

I cannot recognize myself you see, not at all in fact,

We are weak and broken, he is all intact,

She became him,

I became me,

…We cannot go back,

He stands tall and spits me out,

They become one,

He begins to sprout-

A new head from her scorn,

A new monster newborn,

—-

I guess I’ve seemed to escape…

From what we all can relate.

 

 

Insomnia

I keep my demons in my cellar,

The holy gatekeeper ironclad at the door,

I’ve gotten used to the sound of them beating at the floor,

They do not eat, because I do not feed,

They are not alive so they do not bleed.

 

Holy gatekeeper mantled in crosses,

Prays for hearts of the thoughtless,

Well righteous and dauntless,

Screaming psalms at the godless,

Oh gatekeeper my guard,

Tame the hate eaters,

Regard,

My sleep,

Discard,

Heresy.

 

The terror of prosperity,

The fear of accomplishment,

The possibility of failure,

The potential for success,

The beginning of nothing less than-

The inability to rest.

 

Oil And Snow

My deformities have taken shape,

Oil and snow,

Admiration and disgrace,

We all know,

That look on my face,

That still glare of the crow.

The intrigue of nascent disorder forces my hand to raise,

There’s no longer a god here to be praised,

Only the likings of the devoured man,

The ones gnashing on nails and dreaming of Hell,

I am home on soured land,

Dilapidated monuments and decencies taken by the plight of man,

The plight of men,

The women would stay tucked away in their homes,

The peace would stay buried with their bones,

And the wretched folk would parade the streets.

Oil and snow,

Flashes of a dying crow,

Failing where it feasts,

It has munched on greater beasts,

But cannot spring from its feet,

Useless wings, a broken beak,

The broken spoken I’d never speak,

A cry for something a cry for help,

The withered wreck and nothing felt,

Numbest replaces what the light has dealt,

Oil and snow,

More darkness than light,

The last white,

If I tired-

I could become life.