Sleep and slumber, dreams of wonder... weaving,
morning’s vacuum broke the spell
Pitted pillow, note of parting... leaving,
“from your friend, a fond farewell”
Sunrise throbbing, twilight aching... grieving,
daydreams, flashbacks, nightmares knell
Pale phantasms, visions sneaking... thieving,
plot to fill the empty shell
1st Delirium: COLLAPSES
Fractured sky bolts, billows bursting... rumbling,
heavens tighten, turn the vise
Horsemen saddle shafts of lightning... tumbling,
jagged highways must suffice
Ruptured skyways, hailstones crackling... crumbling,
naked pearls of paradise
Toxic tongues of laughter stinging... stumbling,
ocean buckets choked with ice
Droplets drumming, thunder muzzled... mumbling,
washed out whispers pay the price
Smothered blazes, cinders smoking... humbling,
ashes shaped in sacrifice
2nd Delirium: DECENTS
Asphalt alleys, ashen faces... frowning,
blowing bubbles, chewing gum
Drinking ale from tavern tankards... downing,
moonlit beads of painted rum
Stony stars and sea misshapen... drowning,
humble rivers’ rhythms hum
Apparitions aspirating... clowning,
diamonds dying , minstrels strum
Incandescent candles conquered... crowning,
vacant vapours, cold and numb
3rd Delirium: FATES
Tempest turmoil, tapered turrets... holding,
dungeons, dragons, chains and racks
Wheels of fortune, Tarot temptress... molding,
Hangmen, Towers, One Eyed Jacks
Sand dune castles, cryptic candles... folding,
warping walls of liquid wax
Idols colder, combed and coddled... scolding,
hide in fissures, peek through cracks
4th Delirium: LOST SOULS
Sunken cities, pilgrims peering... gawking,
squinting eyeballs, blazing sun
Janus facing, shepherds chasing... stalking,
friends embrace before they shun
Tearooms steaming, tumult teeming... talking,
lovers listen, poets pun
Broken stones unanchored, quaking... rocking,
slipping, falling, one by one
Beaten pathways, footsteps marking... mocking,
wedged in webs which spiders spun
Circus shelters, big tops tumbling... locking,
people pacing, soon they’re none
Numbered exits, zeros numbing... knocking,
midnight daylight’s days undone
Moon blood shackles, shivers shaming... shocking,
starlight striders streaking, stun
Hushed but harried hermits waiting... walking,
restless rainbows on the run
Pixies, elves, and echoes bouncing... balking,
fading fast when dawn’s begun
Bantum butterflies are flitting... flocking
sometimes conquered, overrun
Hocus pokus, seers focus... squawking,
voodoo wavered, witchcraft won
5th Delirium: INTROSPECTION
Sundown furnace, fires fading... coughing,
dusky dew drops drain the air
Empty chalice, sipped in silence... quaffing,
thirsting shadows unaware
Looking glass and lattice scorning... scoffing,
local loser gapes and stares
Faces covered, dancing naked... doffing,
peering inside, hope despairs
6th Delirium: THE VOID
Tales of taboos, mystic mythos... missing,
windows shuttered, bolted door
Kindled candles, tongues and anvils... hissing,
heavy hammers, echoes roar
Dark deceivers, raven charmers... kissing,
draging demons from the shore
Hopeless hollows filled with doubters... dissing
standing empty - nevermore
7th Delirium: SEARCHING
Martyred monks haunt runic ruins ... waiting,
banging broken bells below
Vaulted hallways, voided voices... grating,
churning Chinese chimes aglow
Granite graveyards, spectres spooking... skating,
blackened bushes, roses grow
Midget dwarfs seek mutant migrants... mating,
packing parcels, ice and snow
8th Delirium: NIGHTTIME
Throbbing drumheads, fingers blazing... steaming,
coins of copper, beggars plea
Rusty residues of resin... streaming,
opal amber filigree
Orphan shades in shallow shadows... teeming,
steeping twigs in twilight tea
Cloister doorsteps, Prophets gaming... scheming,
tracing tracks of destiny
Blacksmiths blanching, horseshoes glowing... gleaming,
partially sheathed in black debris
Phantoms feigning, nightmares scathing... screaming,
dusty dreamers drifting free
9th Delerium: EMPTYNESS
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: ALIENATION
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: JETSAM
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: RELIEF
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
Oh the work of a man
who has something to gain,
But for a dopamine junkie
it's all just a game.
Athletic and apathetic,
Need some drive
'cause lethargy's in vain.
So we'll keep at it
until we hit a vein.
and church-bells sing,
enter the ring.
"Is everybody in?
Is everybody in?
The ceremony is about to begin"
knows the stakes are high,
But I'm not one to gamble
I just like to get high.
Head to the library
and take a hit,
Scourer the drug dens
for a decent book.
Now to quote such a tome;
"Not all those who wander are lost",
Yet most who wander
tend to trespass.
I'd guess that is the nature of adventure.
But comprehend this,
When we consider others' words
we hear a whisper of their thoughts.
When we walk in others' worlds
we stand atop their minds' plot.
And to traipse in another mind
is trespass beyond the metaphysical line.
-Lines Fourteen, Fifteen and Sixteen by Jim Morrison (The Doors)
-Line Twenty-Six from The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien
I don't mind Sir. Fascist Police, when he's knocking on my door.
As long as he's not mean to me, I'll blow him, for sure.
I know he thumps the other kids, on their maroon-bruised heads,
but police man, he brings treats to me, so I'm not gonna tell.
Mama, mama, mama, mama, he poked me!
Mama, mama, mama, mama, he poked me!
Mama, mama, mama, mama, he poked me!
Mama, why's he so mean?
My best friend, she's such a bitch, she calls me slutty names.
I tell her I don't like it much, but she just feels no shame.
Late last night we went out, true to our glossy, lipglossed glory,
and as the eve proceeds, plot thickens, shit gets gorey.
She gets and I get drunk and we both weep,
boyish-looking monsters try to fuck with me.
And as he bends me over in the parking lot,
Annie smirks at me, smokes another joint.
I don't mind my apathy, at least it keeps me calm.
I'm content with this lifestyle, my death rate is at a crawl.
And sure I'll get some panics when life don't work out the way that I want.
But the I'll pop some Prozacs, guess I'm happy after all.
This changes nothing, so don't thank me.
We'll wake in the morning, with thoughts in our heads.
Revalue our lives for five or six minutes and then forget.
Well, it seems that they key to life is to simply maintain motion…
But I can’t see the air, so instead I’ll emulate the ocean.
I’ve found I’m better off moving, so I’ll let these currents do the choosing –
Because I can’t decide myself if my self-worth is worth proving.
I’ve got wounds that need soothing… I’m so tired of losing –
I’ve lived too much in too few years for such a lack of improving.
I need a device to twist this plot – Some sort of deus ex machina
I need a key to this lock, but there’s something blocking the --
Path to my salvation; I still long to feel elation,
But I’m being stifled by the laws of this "freedom-filled" nation.
I fell under the illusion of a perfect constitution
Yet, this "justice" isn’t clean – it’s hardly more than sheer pollution.
If I could write my way to your side, I would.
I would pen my lips in soft whispers across your skin.
My fingertips would persuade you with every unspoken sentence.
The stammering of my heart on your mind-
Imprinting each and every black and white intention in your thoughts forever.
Each syllable of my trembling voice whispering in your ear, pleading with you.
I would caress you with my words.
They would flow like water;
swiftly, easily, further and further into unknown.
Faster and faster into this vast ocean;
Page after page of sweet nothing's...
I've captured your soul.
I own your mind.
Now watch me.
Watch as I tease at the plot.
Context clue, after clue:
Never enough to guess at the weight of the climactic end.
I will leave you in constant debate.
A metal war within yourself.
Do you skip ahead to satisfy your impatience?
Or savor every detail until the heart throbbing conclusion?
Can you wait for it?
Can you handle it?
As the earth falls away beneath us,
Can you hold on to me, my love?
Don't let go.
Not yet, my dear.
Clutch the covers and tug the spine,
Let the final words wash over us fully,
Satisfied, relieved... Perfect.
Such a sweet ending.
Now collapse in bed with me, and recall our story.
Touch the paper gently,
And reflect on everything I've shared with you.
Sleep, and dream of me.
Wake and think of me.
And when you find you miss me,
Read this again
Smash cut to my alarm clock
We’re in a movie
This is the story of an apathetic college guy
He meets a silly white girl who he spirals into love with
She wears black and smiles with such honesty
I need to look for any possible sign at all
I hate tripping onto my own fall
Smashing my face on the pavement
Let’s move that to a zoom in, close up
Plot Conflict, Disappointment to see you walk with some other guy
The antagonist of this quote on quote love story
No standing chance to be with you
Watching you walk away
Every single day
Not a chance, Old Sport
Only hearing the echo of your laugh
What kind of shit is this?
How did I overlook this?
Someone give me a fighting chance!
Panning Shot, I try to find your usual trail
To share something with you
To make this lame-ass movie interesting
A common thing, a simple thing
Playing with your hair or taking on a dare
The end is coming soon
And I never even got a chance
To try to have you dance
For the final scene
What a wasted chase for such a pretty girl
Cut to black
(another slight edit)
leaving the theatre, he tapped, twice, the hood of a parked police car, lifted lipstick from a drunken woman's purse and squared himself in a store window before shooting himself with his hand.
his first film, completed, by the time he was eighteen. roundly praised. from there, a many colored thing. russian women, guns under suits, and cameos of indians with indian names. at twenty three, nostalgic for twenty one, his seminal 'my white father' wherein a mute albino would be upstaged by mimes. further brilliance followed. mostly in quotes, such as “babies are full of grief”. women ate from his hand and their eating progressed. one woman in particular became trapped in a man’s body and he married her. a child they tried not to have soon arrived and brought with it a list of demands from the others. the woman divorced him and took with her the man. in the midst of attending to the list came the advent of black and white which added a much needed plot to his smoking. his peers double crossed each other in small houses. he himself was able to get away with punching a young girl for the right to drag a sled. his child began to accept talking toys in exchange for keeping quiet. in 1973, his doctors, grey from vietnam, convinced him to go under. his last film was silent, and many complained about the lighting. he cried, in his mansion, for the windows he did not put in. he would not often entertain tourists but when he did they asked about his mother, her ghost, and if the east wing was really haunted. he would on those late nights produce a letter his mother had sent him only yesterday.
he was in love with his sister, always had been. after she was mauled by the dogs set out for his father, he made walking his home. every now and then a hotel of running. last year, he caught a movie one had made of his life and though he missed the dedication
he did not miss
the death row scene, the little saw his mother used for the cake, the mysterious basket moved from bike to bike.
I would like to remind everyone
that love is not a fairytale,
or a plot twist in a book or TV show.
It is as real as their warm body,
as it moulds together with yours.
There are no fireworks
or electric sparks when you kiss,
but your heart will pound and you'll briefly wonder
if they can hear your nervousness
as loudly as you can.
You'll love them
and they'll love you in return
for as long as it takes before it fades out
because sometimes it takes the dying of one love
to give way to something bigger and greater.
Never forget those you've loved before,
for that's the greatest insult of all,
worse than every curse and every heated fight.
To forget says that you never cared,
even when you were together.
A single Bloom, unblemished,
it's skin as red as wine,
I lay here at your headstone
to mark a year of time.
Perhaps you cannot hear my voice
in the silence of the plot.
I have stopped here just to show
you have not been forgot.
There will be gifts for Mothers
Jewels and tulips too.
Here I leave a perfect rose
in memory of you.
I lost all respect for you the day you ripped out your own spine and buried it beneath the remains of our forgotten romance. As long as we can remember, you've been running from the constellations you roped in and scrawled on my shoulder blades, reciting every landmark with a reassuring confidence I tripped over on that rainy day a year ago. Remind me, dear, how I repulse you and stole your reputation right out of the coffin where you keep your rosary and restless demons. You refused the paper hearts I reluctantly crafted out of my fears and reckless dreams, so I remained weary and hidden in the corners of you cracked, rosy lips. I'm too tall for that roller coaster but I'm too short to be reached, and I know I'm easily read but I'm really tired of being just another road block on your way to the moon. That day, one year ago, I reinvented myself. You're done strumming my wrists and writing my story, tying this recurring nightmare into every ribbon of my plot, because It's mine and I shouldn't have to reveal myself to you, so I've been taking my time and raveling myself back into the real me where there is no recycling of hearts and all I have to worry about is repairing what you ruined with those three, ruthless words-
I love you.