It's funny, those mirror images. Small bracelets of macaroni-turned jewels,
Costly and pointless. Plastic race cars that mom and dad bought me
Zooming around and breaking vases that once
Held cigarette ash. Flowers wrote an essay on lung cancer,
A peer who, on a high night, was put into the vase.
Flora lungs are surreal.
Imagine a flower the shape of me: my blue hair and eyes the petals and bud,
My body a stem and lungs are the leaves,
Ripped out of my sternum and strewn into the antigravity that surrounds me.
A mirror image in another world,
But somehow not the same. Like nuns and whores both
Screaming to God as their tits are groped and abused.
Collisions with the coffee table tip the coughing flower and let sailors tug on the ropes,
Sailing on the sea of liquid ash and sing "yo-no yo-ho" all the way to the white carpet.
A memorial. To the woman who was saved hereby flashing lights and muffled sirens,
The drugs were too heavy.
And then we sit playing scrabble and watching the news. Oh that poor girl.
It doesn't matter though. It is far enough away to only think of palindromes to click in the
Plastic squares, a perfect fit for a triple word score.
But the score doesn't matter. It is what the word represents.
Reviver: one who brings back.
A necromancer? The zombified critters under the stairs because you felt bad about killing them.
They ate your food, but you conducted a mass murder with that sweet poison that crystallizes
Their blood. Their parallel selves are still alive aren't they? The realms are separated by a thread,
Nothing more, so why must they be dead?
Why must they be characters in a movie? Everything is a lie, even the
Letters laid on the game board.
The words we speak is a made up language, the god most believe in
Is a figment of imagination. And so is mine. They are just creatures
Written in a book by drunken sailors, man himself,
Or warped versions of a goddess created by hags, high of of the leaves
Vining in their flowerbeds. Clouds came down because of the warm brandy and
Smoke from their pipes, polluted and dirty.
Fog does not belong here, this Christmas, but at least it will mask the brick wall that
Everyone seems to crash into.
It is a theory of course; people with glass skulls and hollow brains won't live through it,
But it is worth a shot. No one knows whether you will be crushed, or the wall.
On the other side, the other half of the world, the mirrored side,
Exactly the same as the one behind. Nothing new, but everything to see. You haven't looked until
You've seen the opposite of yourself.
You. Impossible. Incredible. Inconceivable.
You make my head spin just thinking of you.
How is it possible you do everything with such beauty?
such grace, maturity, hinting at perfection.
How is it that every word you say seems to make me
want more. i hang off your every word.
your perfects words. your magical words. your true words.
i can only wish i still had the chance to marvel at you.
to peer behind the walls. to see the strings of thoughts
slowly unravel to reveal someone impossible.
but that is impossible; and there is the irony.
My picture of you is covered in dust,
No matter how hard I try I can't scratch off the rust.
I peer into your smiling eyes and wonder why?
Why this picture is all I have left of you?
Why is there nothing that I can do?
To sew us back together so I can forget these broken threads.
Nothing I can do,
To clear the aching fog in my head.
Nothing I can do,
To remember you clearly in my memory.
Because I'm looking right at you, yet still you are blurry.
I grab and grasp for the slightest pigment,
Praying for fulfillment,
Hoping that you aren't just a fabricated image.
Nevertheless you fade, my doubts invade, whispering softly, they say,
"Maybe a dream, is what you're better off to stay."
The northern lights flicker bright
across the igloos where all is quite
the fires do burn in magical glows
but only women and children
are now left at home
for the seal hunters that learned,
are now on the frozen ice packs
ready for their mammalian attack
With just flaming touches in hands
and harpoons at their command
they peer into the darkness
hoping for the call of the seals
and a reaction of eyes
in this unforgiving cold
this unkind world
of the polar abyss
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
The air so cold and crisp
Everything silent except the wind
The ground fresh with a thick glisten
Frozen snowflakes constrict my view
As I peer out the window I can see
The lamp post lighting the tree
So beautiful a Michigan winter
So harsh and cruel but beautiful
How I long to see another Michigan winter.
“Can you cover my shift 5 to 10 next Sunday?”
The first thought is to bring life to another forged explanation.
But then remember “the car”, “Nike Air Max 13’s” “new black chinos!”
“Yes, but who is this?” my eagerness caused by some subconscious yearn to nab this opportunity for a little more change in my pocket
Return to the dusty road I came from
My smiles wider than the road it’s self
You know how happy I am
My eyes have seen things they shouldn’t have
Time as we know it collapsing
Back to the road that brought me here
Laughing so hard
I can never take it back
Homecoming of creativity
The four walled clock melting safe house
Oh the anticipation
It’s coming back soon
I don’t wanna stand on my toes forever
Just trying to peer over then moon
To see the sunrise for tomorrow
I’m finally content with the night light
I don’t wanna stand on my toes forever
Across the avenue
People walking on their hands
And having their peculiarity
Drained from their auras
I can’t understand
Arriving back to times we applauded at our own joy and success
I can comprehend
The corner where this all was conceived
I don’t want to put on my shoes
I’m just going to take them off again
Down to another dusky trail
Unraveling its self for my travels
And yet I am still here. Insanity does not drive me as it does others.
The constant crackle pestering as an innocent tries to sleep; most would explode.
And yet I am still here.
Sanity does not drive me other, teetering on the edge
Is how I live my life, control everything,
Keep everything under control.
The popping cause tears last night. The horrible sound of blood dripping on metal, breaking bones,
A horrid sound that radiates from outside my black velvet curtains where the demons peer in.
They want me to lay atop of that metal table and force my body to make this sounds.
I can not sleep when the agony is so obvious.
I am laughing,
tears squeezed out,
snorting and hiccupping
as I gasp for breath.
Perhaps it is beautiful
for its truth.
faster and faster,
faster than I can
to the dusty corners of the universe.
his eyes are mysterious
and I peer into them
but I know
they are not
for I fear the unknown.
and pulling back
to save myself
but it is too late,
as I sit on the floor
as if I were alone.
he joins in
and I am not alone.
Where am I going
What am I doing
and fingers laced together,
a small, small
and give in.
He smiles back.
In this world
people are nothing.
Less than nothing.
But he whispers
in my ear
and I am something.
As I climb up the treacherous ladder
I feel my heart pump, faster and faster
I feel like that last chance baseball batter
Hoping he doesn’t create a perilous disaster
I peer down once on top as I gulp air into my lungs
I get ready to take the jump I’ve been waiting for
I jump, flipping through the air like loose dog tongues
I hit the water, precisely as planned, satisfied, I head out the door
I fell into this hole that was too deep to climb out that I started shouting for help
Hope happened to pass by and peeking in found me, in hysterics and left
Telling me she will go and find help and some rope, then come back
To lift me out from this place, dark and cold
And left her twin - Despair to keep me company
He jumped in and told me his sister is a consummate liar, that she will not be coming back
He said that she knew I'd be stuck down here forever and just couldn't bear to tell me the truth and so lied
But he told me not to worry 'cause he was willing to help me dig my way out and so had jumped in
He says he will not leave my side (as if he could now that he's down here and not up there)
That the only way out was down and that we'll be best friends in no time
At least that's what he told me
The other day, Depression happened to peer over the hole because he heard the sound of someone digging
My best friend invited him for help and he jumped right in without a second thought before I could stop him
Now I listen to both of them chattering and laughing away, best friends forgotten, in this crowded hole
And in between telling me that I need to lighten up saying they were there to help me as they dig beneath my feet
It's been two months and a half since Despair jumped in to help me
And this hole has gotten so much deeper, thanks to Depression's tireless help
I wonder where Hope has gone and was she really what her brother told me
As I try holding all this dug up dirt up on my shoulders without falling
And no matter how I tell them to stop, her brother and and his friend won't stop their digging
They say we are getting very close to the other side of the world
I've been told the world is flat and if I believe it to be true
And if these two should dig their way to the bottom
Where will we fall? And how long? And what's down there?
And will Hope's helping hand ever reach me that far down?