Vibe

Amazing orchestrations,

The mixture of dimness and warm sound massage my chest in ways I will not be able to explain,

Sheet music and swinging strings give tangibility to my pain,

And defines the existence of my soul prancing around between my bones,

Power in quick silence and that luxury in sustained tone-

Are depictions already known but displayed in states never better shown to me,

I am imperfect in the presence of something great,

I am worthless, I am presence without weight,

Clinging to the perfect reflections of what these human hands make,

Those vibes, those vibrations to cause the soul to stop and mediate on what this reality can offer.

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Afterlife

What I look for in my afterlife,

Does not involve immortality,

Does not involve resurrection,

Does not involve obvious impracticalities.

 

But involves different floors, different sections,

Dedicated to a specific time of my life,

I am a time traveler removing thorns from my side,

Giving sickness and sorrow to those who eventually would decide to be betray the generous nature of my character.

 

I would take a straw broom and sweep the path before my steps,

Brushing my ground while I  knowingly watch my body proceeded safely without harm.

I would watch me become…

What the world wouldn’t allow,

And spring from the unyielding darkness I wish I could now.

 

What I look for in my afterlife,

Does not involve immortality,

Does not involve resurrection,

Does not involve impossibilities,

But only a clear direction, reflection, and inspection of a past life I couldn’t live.

 

I wonder if I’m dead right now looking down on my past self but not really doing a good job at the sweeping, but that’s okay…I’ll eventually get it right.

White

She showed me a video of a deranged artist,

She asked me if that was a fate I wanted to meet,

I politely declined,

We were unsure if he was losing his soul or losing his mind,

The anxiety of imperfection taxed his fragile fingers and he shook in fear,

I told her of my mercurial methods of avoidance and repeated to ensure my message rung clear.

 

His floor teemed with splattered canvases thrown in his fits,

The would chop his palette in attempt to mix his expectations with truth,

The board would bleed red like a severed tooth…

From the head,

He would glare and expect,

He would stand from his office chair to reflect,

On his mistakes,

He would grip the edge of his office table to stop his hand from shak-

ing,

He would bring, he would offer new color to the mix,

and repeat.
She told me that that kingdom had no king,

That I must unite my thoughts to concentrate them into a bullet to fire into the standing wall of my indecision,

Which drove my implacable thrust for meaningless variety,

Lest I’ll find my lesser self smashing colors into one another.

 

I guess she was talking about focus married with dedication in a manner impervious to external influences,

Such as those heinous devices garbed in petite structures,

Those snakes waiting to snap,

A defense against the dangerous few…

…unfortunately those sick folk captured my interest in which I demonstrated in blue and red,

Which I mixed with my expectations for their betterment,

gray,

Despite my whole heart,

They remained in holes.

 

Maybe my expectations are actually yellow,

Or wait no probably orange,

Or maybe white…

Yeah white.

 

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.

 

 

Petty Crime

She opens up like a gun shot wound anytime she’s the one to blame,

She prattles like a convict trying to escape her truth,

Anything less than our belief will cause her to shoot,

Clips of doubt in our minds to have us question what’s true.

She’s a dauntless fugitive unaware of her crime,

Three years on death row with absolutely no clue.

She never stopped to ask,

She only speaks to counter what ever reality passed,

She wants to be the contradiction to the system,

She wants to be the criminal til grave.

Untouch

I have inadvertently given quiet refuge to the forbidden desires of a pure soul,

I have catalyzed the corruption by caution-less acrobats,

With electric hands and a caring heart-

She now resembles both the main antagonist and protagonist of my fairy tale-

I tell to myself every night before I rest to ensure sleep,

I am starting to notice that the rotting could run deep-

Into her mentality,

And deeper into her personality,

Which would neutralize those electric hands and numb that caring heart,

Her disagreeable complex would rebuke her individuality and spoil rotten her image,

She would be unknowingly a herald of normalcy,

A feverous heretic to my cause,

I would lose her to the melting pot of low youth living he high life in the middle of insecurity and ignorance.

 

I would close my doors to her black touch and reset the nature of my shelter.

 

Dream 2

Smoke filled the area of my room,
She appeared in white garbs,
She fell sickly into my arms biting her tongue on the collapse,
She bulged her eyes with heavy tears that weighed down my chest,
I stared into her brown eyes and caught the storm in soul,
I reached inside her ribs to grab the pain from her breast and held remarkably tight,
My knee kept behind her head,
I took my hands from her pain and wrapped my arms her,
And held softly,
Her brown skin combusted into tan dust,
I scooped in my palms trying to capture her remains,
Instantly my life changed,
Instantly my fight changed,
Changed from fighting for her into fighting to stay sane,
Her storm moved to me,
My bones rained the water of her memories that remain plastered on my forehead and constantly sitting on my brain.
I have lost her again.

Dream 2.