Moves

Despite the throes of shouldering malignant devices,

I am still fond of my resolve,

Spades of incessant onslaughts sought to drain my hope from me like blood to a grateful needle,

I have confessed my power to conquer the professedly impossible to the world,

I bested the wretched with flames and held again begotten peace in hand,

While terrors of the night rocked me in my sleep I found solace in the mental chaos and threw doubt to the dancing flames,

Hands burnt to char and wrists bruised with chain.

 

The embraces of tranquil relapse massage the trite irrationality-

Never beyond my grip of sanity,

Intelligence of oneself putting shields to the trying tyrant,

Armies in thought clashing blades with the beasts,

Possessing advances without defeat,

Again, and again into incredible escapes,

I have found my definition of what means emotionally safe,

I can no longer stand on fragile ground holding eternity in my hands,

This is a story of my triumph.

 

Days have stopped counting backwards,

The sun has stopped startling the bats,

The smell of stability no longer churns the morning stomach,

I am no longer hungry for love,

I am no longer blind to place,

I am no longer slung asunder,

And I am no longer ungrateful to God’s grace.

I am thankful.

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Lice

I used to get beaten in my sleep from emotional dreams,

I would jolt up in cold turmoil and try to rock myself back to sleep.

 

I was never afraid to wet the bed with the tears taken from me,

Giving substance to the memories of unsightly abuse,

My eyes had no other use,

But to give life to my imagination of cutting my oppressor into two,

Or three,

I was never ever afraid to wet the bed…with the tears that were taken from me.

 

Years would pass,

I would…I would laugh,

The memories would last,

I could not would not forget,

There was no space for positivity to fit,

Space-less pieces of meat and shit,

Forced into a giant head,

Tiny lice’s proclivities to my bed…

 

 

Once the decade touched,

I wanted to move, but too much,

I wanted to get better,

I wanted to change the proverbial mental weather,

That I’ve keep for years,

That I kept tied intimately with my fears,

I hated their stain,

I could see it every time I experienced pain,

I wanted to kill everything I touched,

I wanted to improve, but not too much,

I couldn’t lose the person I thought I found,

In the mirror of yesterday staying into the presently unsound,

I wanted to win,

So…I did.

 

 

 

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…

With Decision

I don’t want to be the reason she dies,
I would not be able to live with myself,
Two innocent souls, one transgression,
No, not again.

Vibrantly violent what I beheld,
What pain struck my chest,
What pain struck her chest,
It struck her worse,
It struck me best,
Relentlessly forced me to express-
My guilt for my actions impure…
While still unsure my complete intentions,
These actions, extensions-
Of what my subconscious would not release peacefully,
And as the mountain of disdain increased speedily,
I collapsed beneath its weight,
I broke her, and that is when I knew I could break,
Cold and still beyond the night,
Bursting into day,
My worries would come to stay,
Drag me to reality, and demand me to display-
My worst.

I would rue the next night’s coming,
Heart pounding outside my ribs,
To know I wouldn’t sleep,
Openly burdened by tribulations I couldn’t speak,
Dedicated self-hatred slander and slurs I couldn’t peep,
I would be the epitome of self-defeat,
Again,
Which means once I rose,
From the heaps of her I tried to dispose,
At a new nexus now with a decision only God knows.

Denial

The glorious exposition of her emotion in color,
Displayed on the holy walls of her tiny cage,
It gives her a little more to look at, when she’s stuck with rage,
It simply a mixture of white and grays,
It asks for her attention to be paid-
As she convulses in and out of consciousness,
I stare in, making empty promises,
That one days I’ll release her…
But those are lies,
She’s simply too dangerous and you can see it in her eyes,
They’re calm, peaceful, yet sick,
With a liquid coat that seems lizard-like and thick,
She’s trapped with her problems she can’t fix.

Every night around five,
I hum her this saddened song,
She smiles and laces her fingers through the thin bars of the cage,
A saddened song that won’t age,
It’s 2 minutes, 36 seconds long,
When I stopped humming and looked inside,
I saw an empty cage, still with disbelief that she died.

Another Step

I view all my actions as steps,

Steps toward something,

Something somewhere,

Not always known,

But ahead.

I have a tendency to watch where my feet go,

Shambling over dead thoughts,

And stumbling over bleak instances of the past,

But I never fall,

It never hurts,

For long, well…it never lasts.

Every act,

Every notion,

Every response,

Every movement,

Is fixed facing forward,

Stuck in the gist of things,

I can’t turn back.

The challenge comes from the past’s embrace,

It comes from the emotion that is latched around my neck,

I have blotchy bruises caused from the strength of my resistance; sore muscles,

I pray to God at night that my neck doesn’t break,

I find my hands gripped around the nape,

It’s not that from these latches that I cannot escape,

But the power that I need to exert in order for them to break,

Not to mind…that I also have shackles around my ankles that stop me from dancing for joy,

It has dumbed down to this awkward hop in wake of achievement,

But celebration nonetheless.

Some would say I’m fighting myself,

Simply because I won’t turn around,

And face what I direct my steps against,

A yank from the chain of my demons I could dispel,

But I cannot bring myself to please them with usual hell,

I must walk, fight,

Remain the living contradiction to this blight,

Against all…another step.

 

Mother

Back when my mother fled,

I casted dreams about the greedy in black night,

I forgot about acceptance,

And embrace of youthful rites-

Of passage,

Who’s pages may shred,

Of red and white,

From blades I’ve bled,

In deep depths of night…in bed.

I formed bonds with things,

Folk held together by string,

Wrung and wring,

They hang and swing,

From ceilings that have left me,

Thrown into skies of infinity…

And beyond what I choose to understand.

Affections subside from shambling on uncharted nerves,

Stabbing at my adulterated nervous system,

Mother actualized the fear of abandonment that amplifies in my childish ears while alone,

Screams from trite organs clinging to externals,

Give my hands reasons to act infernal toward people generally believed good.

When the screams stop, undoing my trouble,

I will dance toward the running emotion,

And embrace it tightly with sore feet and stinging arms,

To return it home…again.