autumn's ailing dream, leaking sap
The old lackluster contractions of mystical and spiritual,
Potentials imagined and reformed and reanimated,
Absolute reactivity singing lightning fire, thunder smoke, and static heat,
Automatic speed, capricious spread, and impulsive attraction,
Creaking with erratic, pathetic responsibility and vicarious trust,
Made what the river withered down into pages of faithful loveliness,
The sandy shores that the river wore tracks in, widening the trail,
Until the cavernous spires became pebbles below the flowing waters –
As desperate, as frantic, and as meaningless as the hunger it entails.
The inhuman, callous intentions of miserable, malevolent beliefs,
Syncopated consciousness faint and delicate and fragile,
Spinning with tenuous gloom, crusty oil, and pious, political clout,
Weighted greed, pitiless reliance, and delirious confidence,
Sparring cowardly from a dark hole, filled with shadows,
Drove the crooked hinges to turn, and now they lie, locked, at night,
The oaken doorways and the stained glass windows stay dirty,
Covered in dust and soot until the collapse of everything –
As forlorn, as empty, and as wintry as the hills of the North.
The dog-eared, leafless branches from cut trees that sit broken on the ground,
Passively deadened as oceans of salt and carnivorous teeth,
Vacant inquisition leading mighty liquid explorations,
Maple’s bleed, autumn’s ailing dream, and dizzy spiraled roots
Leaking sap into the cloying caverns of obscurity,
Break under the burden of cold, and dense leather boots,
The heavy crush of coming snows and ice-covered hide,
Until deep grooves are scoured in the crust of the Earth –
As ruined, as spoiled, and as decayed as the passionate lack of man.
Capone in a cell
Vonnie in a casket
I ripped my heart out
and I put it in a basket.
Feelings no attachments
in this cold world.
Always watch my six
Fellas protect your girls.
Always love your mother
in her womb you were curled
through her canal you were birthed,
So know a woman's worth.
Stay alert in a city
where the vices can be tempting
Fast money, drugs, sex
and evil women.
It's full of snakes and villains,
plotting on the children,
while claiming they are Christian.
There's always something missing
skeptics discredit religion,
I write what's on my mind
to escape this mental prison.
If they saw through my bones to what’s inside of my soul
They would see me for me- and not who they think I might be.
The stinging words I hear them speak…
They spit venom so casually, not knowing they’re actually talking about me.
But what they know is what they’ve been told, which they base on the moral beliefs that they hold,
But they can’t see that that sinner is me- the only reason they even took a second look.
But if they could take just one more, to the depths of my soul way beyond the shore,
Maybe they would see the scrapes on both of my knees
From the days I spent praying to God to spare my soul from this thing plaguing me.
Maybe they would feel the rips in my lungs from screaming out to the sky to be rid of my depraved mind.
But if they could see the scars from the blade I used to penetrate my skin
To cut through to the sin and bleed out all my inner demons,
Maybe they could they see my heart sinking in my chest at the dinner table
When my family talked about their disgust
And have you seen the pool of tears I’ve been choking back
Since the first time I realized I was trapped
In this sinful body with these sinful tendencies
That build up like scum corrupting the inside of me?
But even still my heart felt so pure
With the butterflies in my stomach when I first saw her.
And it didn’t feel like it should feel wrong.
But it did feel wrong when I stood along
As these godly people talked about chapels and steeples
And churches and marriage between a man and a woman,
And how anything else is simply perverted.
But in my mind, I just don’t feel
Like this sin is any more or less real
Than any of those their condemning mouths have committed.
But somehow still I’m the one to be pitied-
Or even still to be ignored.
Like, maybe if we shun her she’ll know she doesn’t have our support.
Because God knows that a smile or a kind word to someone feeling alone
Could easily communicate to them that you openly condone
Every single thing in their life that they might be doing wrong.
But answer me this if you know all about my affliction:
Do you think that I would choose to be hated on sight by judgmental Christians?
If I could choose my path do you think I’d choose pain,
Guilt, humiliation, and shame?
Do you think I’d choose to live a life shackled and chained,
Hiding away a part of me I almost don’t want to accept to this day
Because I fear when I see God he’ll turn me away?
This one’s for every form of me
that ever screamed a plea
on bruised knees,
help me not to bleed.”
And to every former me
that since has ceased to be,
just know that every time I try,
I can’t seem to pull free.
When my head gets above the water,
just enough to breathe,
another wave pulls me under
until the blue is all I see.
But I didn’t want to let you go;
it just happened that way.
And don’t think I’m not a shell of
the person I look back on some days.
Now it feels like I don’t even know how to feel,
and the reality of life never felt more real.
And it feels like I’m trapped
in a predetermined fate,
and when I realize where to go,
it’s already too late.
Now I’ve got the world on my chest,
and there’s no way I can shake it.
And even though I know the right remedy,
I’m not ready to take it.
I can’t even seem to get the words on paper,
because these feelings are buried in me,
whirling rain clouds like vapor.
Before I get a chance to look at the sky,
the water’s already rising nearby.
And sometimes when I look into a child’s eyes,
I want to cry out that we’re all born to die.
And I want that soul to stay young and stay free
instead of growing up and growing cold-
marching into a life of slavery.
Because I used to be there once,
no limitation on who I could be.
But now I’m broken and shackled-
callused and desperate to break free.
I just want to cut myself open
to see if I bleed
to see if I am real
to exhaust all of these exhausting feelings that I feel
Sooner or later
The truth comes out
Like a kick in the head
A blow to your chest
Cut off at the knees
You weep those tears
Of bitter betrayal
Choke on the shame
Of being the last to know
Bleed out from the wound
Of that knife in your back
And you sit there thinking
My lack of verbal eloquence
means I lie awake at night wishing I could recite
essays and witty phrases to fashionably bored people.
I am left to myself and my own silence wraps around me
with the heavy words
The very atmosphere tastes
of unspoken poetry and my ink sketched owls frown at me
for verbally misrepresenting myself.
Sinking deeper into the quiet I can only pray that my ceiling
might bleed words and miraculously give me
status saving sentences.
Christmas was the one day of the year when the guns died away...
There were soldiers from two different sides and two different worlds,
But we all spoke the same language on Christmas.
December 24th, 11:50 pm
There are only 10 precious minutes until Christmas.
I can hear gunshots BOOMING and BANGING on all sides around me...
The sky is like a piece of black velvet.
It looks simply stunning when compared to
The snow that is marred with blood more red than drunk, bloodshot eyes.
All around me,
I see men gasping, gulping, and grabbing for air.
I can see the heat rising from their decaying bodies.
I have been instructed to not help them.
They're just gooks after all...
They don't live, breathe, and bleed just like you and me.
They are monsters who crave American blood...
December 24th, 11:59 pm
The guns are more heated than ever.
My adrenaline is racing.
The crisp, frosty air is kicking my ass right now.
The tears that I have shed are now frozen to my face.
My legs are numb and no yet waking,
My frigid pate is aching,
My blackened heart is breaking,
My blue hands that hold my damn gun are shaking,
And I can taste blood whenever I swallow,
But I cannot stop running.
I've been told that I'll die if I do...
December 25th, 12:00 am
Guns cease to fire...?
"Why have they stopped firing?"
I shout to my neighbor.
He just grins like the little boy he truly is, and simply responds,
All over the battlefield,
Men hoot and holler with joy and glee.
Each man is a little boy, once again.
The only guns we know of are plastic and squirt water...
But in the adult world,
The guns and insults stop.
In their place,
Men sing praise to the God they often curse,
And remember Rudolph, Frosty, and the other childish characters who used to make them innocently smile.
December 25th, 12:10 am
Every man who has not yet fallen has found a place to rest his head for the night.
We temporarily become friends with our enemies.
Friends, obviously, meaning people who agree to not shoot at each other for a mere 24 hours...
My buddy pulls out a flask from his sack,
And he spreads a little "Christmas Cheer" around the trench.
We all act like camels, and retain as much cheer as possible...
We'll need all the cheer we can get if we're going to survive for more than five minutes in the next round of hell.
December 25th, 12:00 pm
We take the time to sleep...
We take the time to quietly talk about our girls back home...
About the families that we've left behind...
About the food, activities, and places we miss most...
We make the most of every small, yet precious, moment that goes without a shot or kill.
For a minute,
I forget where I am.
I am actually happy for a moment.
December 26th, 12:01 am
We remember that we're supposed to kill each other,
So I let my gun do all the talking for me.
Christmas is the only time to be friends...
Any other day is a day to kill.
Christmas is a universal language.
Evidently everyone can understand it...
I guess it's just mutual that we take the time to NOT kill each other.
So are we going to kill each other until there are no more men standing?
If it were up to me, every day would be Christmas...
Then I could actually go home.
We speak a broken language
we fall and forget
and stumble into broken shards
of the mirror
that cut us and make us bleed
the only way we can think to remember
were all masochists
because were stumbling on purpose
blood spilt on the other side of the world
makes us all anemic
I'm living just to die
I'm smiling just to run
I'm laughing just to fake
I'm getting tired I swear I can feel the demons talking
their voices won't disappear they hunt me
I feel weak only god can save me from falling
I get down on my knees I beg and bleed
for forgiveness and for all my sins to be washed away
I cry as I look at the sky
I hurt as I look at me
I bleed as I look at him
please god help me before I lose my mind
I'm trying to smile , laugh
but these wounds are too deep for me to hide
I'm losing what I thought I'll never have
I don't want to go back to that dark place
where I hide alone in the dark and cry
please god help me ...