Think of it like this;
Your mind, his mind, her mind
They all make up the universe.
Every mind comes together to make this world,
A world of personality.
Some parts peace, some parts violence
And without you this place would be
Different.
Without you, who knows what would be here and what wasn’t.
And ****
I never want to find out.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
The tranquil chirps of a Robin outside of my window wakes me,
6:00 am,
the bitter smell of coffee finds its way to my nose,
I stumble over to pour the steaming black waterfall,
in to my plain white mug.
I sleep walk over to the bathroom,
to the basin,
I can hardly turn the ****
after few foggy attempts I grasp it,
the steaming water comes crashing down.
One toe at a time,
into a serene sea,
I step in,
lay back my head into the translucent,
untouched water,
close my eyes,
and pretend i’m drowning,
drowning in the mauve sea,
and now i’m blinded by color.
Goosebumps spread across my violet stained body as I step out,
it drips from my skin.
A switch from off to on,
and my hair is stuck in a tornado,
a magenta sunset lingering in the wind.
Something in my peripheral vision catches my eye,
I turn my head only to find a mirror,
my reflection,
dancing,
jumping,
flying.
Unique,
“time to be something i’m not”
I reach for a treasure chest,
not full of gold but platinum,
beauty,
so all my flaws will be vestige,
a creamy pale paste,
I pat it on my face,
followed by light ivory powder and a rose for my cheeks,
I make my lashes look like wings,
and spread a velvet carpet across my lips,
put the beauty back in the treasure chest.
I look up,
my reflection,
“it’s”
reflection,
fake,
masked,
perfect.
The same as everyone else,
a thrall to society,
“now i’m something i’m not”
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
And the red flowers will be stained with blood,
like the sunset sleeps at day,
and you will never know,
when I see your eyes,
when I see your smile,
they empty me like a ****** is in the back of your mind.
You have been tricked into becoming an insidious torture chamber,
concealed by a rainbow blinding us with different hues,
the colors are only an illusion placed by society,
no more freedom, forever shackled in your own head,
blankly staring at a mirror placed in front of you,
stuck looking at your own reflection,
the reflection of a mad man,
a lunatic,
what you have become.
Hiding your reflection from the colors by wearing a jubilant mask,
a flamboyant smile,
but I can taste the smell of death on you,
and it only reminds me,
that each day,
is another day,
and everyday is a knock,
by death,
six hundred,
sixty six,
knocks and your mind will fail.
So grab your shotgun,
and out goes,
insanity,
replaced with sanity
like Kurt Cobain,
171,
Lake Washington,
Boulevard East,
Seattle, Washington,
is where he was driven sane by the hues of the rainbow,
the illusions colors.
And like a butterfly that turns to a caterpillar, you will do the same.
So please awake me,
with the dull taste,
of your peeling skin,
cut through my nose,
and travel down my spine,
so I can unshackle you from the chains,
then you can leap,
above the screaming stars,
Akai hana ga chi de somassa remasu,
And the red flowers will be stained with blood.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
The moon jumps into the bathtub,
a crystal mirror reflecting the night sky,
black creatures dancing with insects on the surface.
An old man sits on his porch at the earliest hours,
sitting in his sepia rocking chair,
back and forth,
back and forth.
I’m home.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
Where the mother sings and holds her ill newborn,
cradling it with a smile, even after the child has passed.
It is where the light eerie music plays in the back of your head.
where you cannot run from what you wish you had forgotten.
It’s where the old man rocks back and forth in his rocking chair,
singing the song his wife had once sung to him,
soft hums mimicking the demons in his head,
and he will hum for her forgetting that she flew to another place.
He runs to the house,
its at the end of the night,
it’s in the back of his mind,
where darkest dark is,
shadows that can touch,
and people with common sense.
The place where lies destroy your mind,
it is where you realize you are broken,
yet saying that means you were once hole,
only another lie.
It’s where you go to get away from screams,
but your own mind is the loudest screams you could possibly hear.
It’s the toilet that you visit after every meal
the blue color of your veins
a house that was never a home
it’s the pain in your chest that never goes away
it is a place where you wait for those words
“beautiful”
“your mind is beautiful”
because beauty is not what you are surrounded by,
it's your soul.
It’s the question
what does your house look like at the end of the night?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Tuesday was when the sun failed
my shin bones were ripped from my legs and made it heavy to walk,
feathers fell through the air and suffocated each one of us,
7 billion curious eyes looked up to the viridescent sky,
then came a flash of emptiness,
the sky went out and so did our minds.
The world was left unable,
we could only feel
only taste
only hear
only smell.
Then they came,
and took everything from us
they took you away from me.
I felt a chilled hand gently touch my neck
and reach to my ear
a distant screech echoed throughout the deserted air
then a numbing pain that reminded me of death spread over my skin
my eyelids began to close
and as they did I saw more light than when they were open
I saw more things than I could envisage.
A never ending white universe filled with unfamiliar faces flew around me
and once my eyes focused I searched for you,
every single person
hung in the empty air
with thin tubes filled with sapphire gel coming from their ears.
All of their faces were stripped of life and their eyes sunk into their heads,
but the one face I could not find was yours.
I remember day after day hoping I would wake up,
and eventually I did; but if only I hadn’t
I would not be trapped in the silence of not hearing your laugh,
not seeing you grow older
and I would not be stuck in the mind of a hopeless mad man
waiting for “them” to bring your bright green eyes
your soft smile
your small hands
back to me.
So I can only hope that you know
I search through midnight
every
single day
for you
and I will find you
in this blackened world;
my son.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
When you reach for the cold wooden board
your hands begin to decay
your skin peels back then hardens and falls off your scarlet bones.
A bright midnight flash struggles to push through to the other side of your mind
revealing that you passed years ago but are stuck in an actuality that doesn’t belong to you.
Life is all just a disorder, dead but you keep on living
a distorted mind trapped in an unborn child's head.
Or it could be a game from the further future that they play
controlling little beings within a screen.
The words engraved on the board now lay in your flesh and you cannot let go
from the reality within reality
but is the concept that hard to grasp?
You believe in God but not your own insanity?
We are the dead ones that are only able to perceive
they are makers of our madness
the creators of an urban fantasy
and they try to speak to us from millions of years in the future through a sharp birch wood board
but the lies we are told and the truths that this “world” withholds
does not compare to the unknown universe outside of this screen.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
Your smell is still on the tip of my nose
I can see it
I can feel it.
And your screams still run from ear to ear
Like when I was a child and mommy never came home.
In the night I see my blackened legs and arms
And you sitting on the ceiling
Taking my breath from above me
Holding me down with the force of a million fists
Your fists.
But now I always wake up
Instead of being trapped in the night for eternity
And I find myself so relieved to hear that
You have been gone for more than a year
But it feels like yesterday you got sent away
when I was crying in the corner you sent me to
Praying to God
Who I never believed in before
but then you were finally taken away
And now I thank God
every single day.
But I can thank you
Because if I had never met you
I would still be in that same corner
With a gun to my head
Letter on the bed
Shaking like a wet dog
And wishing I was dead.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
“When will dad be home to sing me a lullaby again?”
Those words
are stapled to the back of my head every waking day by our daughter
whose pouty lips tremble as she kisses your picture
then slowly looks up at me,
“soon.”
What else am I to say
when I ask myself the same **** question
every day, every night
and every year.
Then the sirens sing,
and we hide under a small table
as a group of men search for explosives,
gunshots echo through the shack and numb my ears
a small girl from across the room coughs up tomato soup
and is instantly tossed out onto the cold streets
of the October blue
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It is now the end of December
and instead of snow wrapped around our little town like a blanket
there is chilled blue flames
that leave children screaming
screaming at the fire for taking their family.
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It has been months since you wrote back
and years since I have seen you.
Now it’s March and sky is flooded with silver waste
and as I looked up from my balcony
the door began to ring,
I ran to the door
and saw your bright blue face,
with your soft pale eyes
but your soul wasn’t you
your mind had been replaced by the war.
And as I opened my ears to speak
I saw the knife in your hands and as you whispered
“I love you”
the light that was you
went through the sharp jagged edges
and sank into my heart,
sunshine took over my lungs
and darkness sunk behind my eyes
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
where are you?
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
No matter how shattered our homes were
or how many times throughout the night we heard our own cries,
we all started off with a grin stretching over our faces
with wide eyes staring at the sapphire sky and the emerald trees,
curiosity always singing lullabies in our ears.
But eventually,
the sky turns to rust and the tree's leaves fall off
and we are left to wonder where we went wrong
and how we got to the edge of the world,
looking down a sempiternal pit of blank faces,
including your own.
And as we grew our hands became rougher
while others got smoother,
so with the same wide eyes
we gaze up at the people who we praised,
for climbing down the border of the earth
wondering how they fell into the world
and climbed off of it into their mind,
and it was only till now that we realized,
separate people conquer different insanities.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC