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.

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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.

 

A Laugh

I am surrounded by tickled people,

And on my best day,

I cannot remember to laugh at the joke,

It’s something I can’t say,

Something about womenfolk that onsets the chuckles.

I am surrounded by gentlemen,

Upstanding and true-

That are arrested by the prospects of romanticism and chivalry,

It is ostensibly present in everything that they do,

This ensues a respect for women that some would call extinct,

But while these attributes lay closely with nobility,

The different hearts of their companions crush their potential,

The ship sinks for those men upholding civility,

They are no longer deemed essential and collapse under the desires of their lady,

Their hearts are second because nobility exclaims it.

I see this men giggling over their corrosion as they begin to lose themselves,

With her feet on his chest he rests in chaos and wakes in pain,

Everyday,

For this, I cannot laugh.

 

 

 

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.

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.

Broken Light

I died in my dream last night,

Not pleasantly no no not pleasantly,

I was crushed by a curse,

The weight of my culture scraped into my swollen shoulders,

The weather made it worse,

The sky would cry its stolen ice boulders hoping the ground would hurt,

The vibrations would call my knees to ground,

The sound,

Would cause my ears to ring,

The debris,

Would cause my breathing to act up and my skin to sting,

I had a memory of living toward greater means,

I wanted to thrive and yearned to be seen,

I had aspirations, motivations, and death dreams,

Every morning and every night,

I would speak to myself in the mirror trying to kindle that internal light,

When it died down the darkness stopped the beating on my chest,

I got swamped with fatigue and dived into disinterest,

Chronically depressed,

Eating beside my own shit and sleeping atop my own mess,

I could not see beyond my sight,

Every morning and every night,

I would talk to myself in a building’s window to try and rekindle that light.

 

I did not know what it meant to be spiritually blind,

I was always the only person on Earth and could not stand being around people,

I would scoff at the church steeples,

Call the church people “sheeple”,

And move on with my dirty day.

 

My people would stare at me and my beggin’ hands,

Giving pity and pennies,

Two days have passed on an empty corner and questioning faces.

 

To Be Treated

You look trapped in your pictures,

You cannot exceed the frame,

He grips your side with a smirk,

You look down smiling at the dirt,

Let’s be honest, it’s obvious you’re hurt,

It’s obvious that what goes on at home must not be seen at church,

He’s obviously abusive,

And there’s a reason why he wants to keep your relationship completely exclusive.

 

You have like 2 friends, your two older sisters,

And when you need something, both of their responses couldn’t be swifter,

But you never say you need anything,

Even though you’re hungry for validation,

You need no other external influence to bring you to the realization-,

That his love is blisters,

He gets jealous when you talk to men at work…

 

Transactional communication coated with copious aggression,

He always has to teach you something to make sure you learn your lesson,

At least three punches a night,

Not a fight,

Because you never hit back,

You just wait for him to finish and you apologize for the slack,

Your face is perfect,

Too perfect,

Mounds of makeup,

Smile is overexerted.

Stories you gotta make up,

Wearing foundation at the gym,

A relationship polluted with glum and grim-

Representations of control,

The society advises you to step off the battlefield before the battlefield takes its irreparable toll,

You’re a glutton for pain, so of course you’ll stay,

He’ll eventually snap one day,

And crush your head on the wall,

Your sisters would be at your funeral crying at your call-

To not speak to your family about the throes of your fall,

He would run away…well crawl-

Into a hole to evade the police,

Your body would be left on the bloody floor with your name still on the lease,

Just because no one taught you how men should treat.