Buried in 'maybe'
A throbbing heart toils for a throbbing mind,
Heart beating on its cage of rib -
It's only a matter of time
Ready to bust out of that joint
Make a run for it and
Breakaway
Worked like a slave,
Your blood-pumping knave
Tired, shifty-eyed & opaque
Make no mistake:
It'll burst straight thru your chest
Go running off right before your dead eyes
And you'll never see it again.
Leaf.
Golden and green, then brown and falls apart.
Is Death really so bad?
It creates for such beauty.
It Spins the Wheel.
A skull with horns.
To some, unfathomable...
to see, a sense of aesthetic so profound as it sits there on the mantle before a snow filled fireplace.
I crumble the leaf...
...steals away my pride.
I remember one day I will crumble,
fall away,
and die.
It is not such a horrible thing.
For, I am excited to see what lies beyond the Blackened Gates of the Earth.
And when my candle snuffs out in 120 or more years from now, it will be with an angel-light, glowing white, in my heart.
Without Death, there would be no Creation...no Birth.
Think about it.
Feel it.
Meditate upon it.
Like an Aghori, who sits upon a human grave, holds a human skull, and dusts himself in cremated remains...
Embrace it.
Bathe in the metaphoric blood of ancestral light.
Roll in the soil.
Taste the bliss of release.
For then, and only then...
can you walk through the Valley of Life...
Removed entirely...
...
...from Fear.
I don't even know who
to pray to anymore
It almost seems like an
insult to ask You,
when you're watching us
burn our world to
bits.
So.
Universe, I guess you are
holding the cards now...
There are so many volcanoes,
all burning Rome.
I suspect even without my feeble
wish,
You have burdens enough.
someone said i write like jim morrison,
i am,
i can,
i will,
and you will not.
a metaphor for a metaphor.
I adore women
I refuse to apologize for it
I like the way their voices squeak in the upper registries
I like the fashions
I like the makeup
I like the aromas
Not the silly runway catwalk biz that reduces them to awkward mannequins
adorns them in the impractical
and cloaks them in the absurd overreaching of the tired clamoring for something
new and unique
that which exploits their lithesome anorexic perplexing job requirement
I like the way they can shape shift, alter and assume new identities
I like the fact that some have mood swings and PMS
I marvel that they can give birth
I like being aware that their "water-weight" make's them grumpy
I'm astonished that they innately ovulate with the cycles of the moon
and that the Huntress Diana inherently acquired her namesake
Doesn't bother me a bit that "it's a lady's prerogative to be late"
or that opening a door for them is considered 'sexist'
I was raised with a sister and a mother
with lace and dainty frilly things
I caused them a lot of aggravation and consternation
I think they enjoyed it - nonetheless
somewhat
I refuse to apologize for it
so i blew up my air conditioner
and my mom wants to kill me
obviously not on purpose
well the blowing up part
my mom definitely wants to kill me
on purpose
like i wanted to kill the frog
when i shot my gun
that accidentally missed
by about four yards
and shot my air conditioner
yes, call PETA
I have an animal abuse case to report
the perk was the frog
victim: my dog
who was poisoned
attempted murder
by the frog
who i tried to kill
on purpose
as self defense
Columbian Eden;
In an October descent:
Yesterday we're innocent,
Then time is rend.
Consecrating her lips
with another crimson layer,
A red-stained cigarette
and fiendish black hair.
This place is our day,
Eternity
does remain.
Rapturous Olympus;
On skin droplets of water caress:
"Some people feel the rain,
Others just get wet."
Standing shirtless
his declaration was blessed,
As water fell
on his demonic chest.
Doomsday kiss,
Infinity
and other stuff.
Neoteric Paradise;
Exile Vilify the individuals' convergence:
Unhindered by the precipitating blitz,
We're lost in the drizzle of descending mist.
The outcast crowd know
a different kind of bliss.
The overcast cloud shows
context is all that ever is.
"All those moments will be lost in time
like tears in rain."
Ion chaser ate a hurricane.
-Lines Eleven and Twelve ascribed to Roger Miller
-Lines Twenty-Eight and Twenty-Nine devised by Rutger Hauer (As Roy Batty)
Brief rememory of a day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhSTN8Q7cD8
It's the end of freshman year.
I'm single.
I work.
My life still sucks.
My dad hates me.
He hates me.
She hates me.
I've lost many of my friends.
I still don't have a car.
I'm sixteen.
I'm failing history.
I actually cleaned my room.
I've gained weight.
I still want to die.
I still cry about Him.
My legs are fat.
I'm fat.
I can't trust anyone.
Fuck the world.
I hate love.
What is love?
It's always my fault.
Why do my parents hate me?
Why aren't I perfect?
I remember all my mistakes.
I'm a mistake.
Aren't we all mistakes?
I hate my life.
I'm not responsible.
I'm stupid.
I'm short.
I have 25 bucks.
I should go buy a candy bar.
But I will become even more fat.
Never mind.
Will starving myself help?
That's so gay.
I will become famous.
After I get rid of my depression.
Why doesn't He love me anymore?
Because I'm a bitch.
It's so beautiful outside.
So I'll stay locked away in my room.
Not like I have anyone to hang out with.
Why doesn't deodorant work?
I sweat to much.
My family is fucked up.
That includes me.
Is my heart even beating?
Or am I dead?
Nope, unfortunately.
These are some of many things my depressed mind thinks.
I've gotten so good at being alone
now it's a great time on the couch
surfing the web on my phone
singing with a wide mouth
letting random melodies pour out
throw in a shout or a laugh
chilling with myself like a dumbass
but it's fun, acting exactly how I
want to act, patting my own back
I'm glad I didn't let myself as a best friend
slip through the cracks.
your house was yellow
mine was blue
railing tumbled on my sprinting ankles
basement rattled & the floorboards dropped
& filled the place with the kind of emptiness
that is so dense it smothers
smoke smells a lot like ticking minutes
if we scented time the way we spray each other
hope the turtles remember how to duck & cover
the cats sure got it
remember me as a time of day
when the frenetic pace of the weekend squall
kicks up its heels & laughs at Monday
some Saturday
there will be nothing left by dawn
some burning blue bush
made of desiccated wood & cheap combs
photo albums of learned feelings & yearnings
that other people describe
but it’s not us
dusty cookbooks & vanished remote controls
asbestos & fiberglass attics
a cancer that gnaws the joints like packs of rats
cut my fingertips trying to reach the places I have come
to fear the most
found a rusty keyhole
you smolder
found a faulty furnace
but most everything else when pushed to its physical limits
I really miss your hand in mine, braving bee stings in the orchard
to find the best ones
& the convivial cluster of caterpillars that swallowed the bark
in these last few painful moments
blazes.
somewhere
an empty crib stays unfurnished
someone starts an engine
the varnish is melting & so am I
God gave you an unfinished smile
a smoke alarm malfunctions mocking your reluctance
to just grin & bare it
to just open up your arms
& catch me when I jump
(but first here comes the fish tank)
catch me with the fit I threw
we all look like burnt books
blowing in the breeze
I’m wafting with the exhumed memories
before my legs even hit the dew
you watch me dwindle to a million floating pieces
the contract ascertained a certain ephemeral appeal
& I’m too thirsty to complain
about anything but the heat in here
hold your breath
& wait
for some other current to take me
there are no exits.
