steady hands to face
the day
and a heart full of
caterpillars
the thumping of feet
on the concrete
the rhythm and rhyme
the steady march of time
growing apart one step
after another incident
another needle
trying to find purchase
when the offer has
clearly left the table
walking away could be
more than just goodbye
more than a sigh into the
waiting void of the night
where our hearts are
want of light
like moths
all aflutter we come
crashing down after
leaping when we
knew we were gonna die
but if we flew
that'd be okay too
never told you
how much
life got in the way of
growing up
and growing together
metamorphosing
like so many caterpillars
that dared to dream of
something physically impossible
currently
presently
the past is too much
and the future
well that's old news now
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 3:11 AM UTC
i am not a part of this
neither here nor there
for everywhere i am
i don't feel there
the trees are crooked
all is ugly up close
time will warp shut
the gates to Comatose
my heart is fracturing
fractal fissures happening
faster than i can figure
the math doesn't fit
everywhere, a stranger
every time, a danger
every song in major
distress and discordance
according to the angels
i'm angled wrong, all wrong
asking for assistance gone
with alliance to gods
relying on foundations
of physical renditions
of spiritual failures
rends my soul, not heart
yet my heart hardens and
yawns open and horribly
cracks like no young
body should bear here
yet, here i lie, broken apart
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
stare through eyes
with the vacancy sign
neon green
seeing nothing
of meaning in the twilight
gleam of a thousand city dreams
dream that the world isn't grimy
shut the blinds and return to sleep
where people and problems are dilute
with the ****** we call
sleeping
sweet, sickly dreams seem appealing
in that necrophileistic sensory release
way that spoiled milk spills in
poppy seed daydreams sprung into sunflowers
it makes sense since you trust me
see the lens is cloudy
and the aperture is the eye of
the hurricane in your head
so go to sleep, my love
nighttime is calling
and i've unplugged the answering machine
so your answer won't be
so mechanical
in the future
and the future in illuminated by
the light of a thousand sunny smiles
smiled because we are not in love
but we put on the best show in town
and people roll their windows down
rain, sleet, snow, or hail to hail
we the king and queen of
the nightmare we believe in
so deeply it
seeps through
staining our eyes a deeper crimson
and our son shines in the overcast sky
drowned out in a wash of blues
deeper even than the depths of the ocean
trenches we dug in our war on
love
and the idiocy
of lovers at dawn
dusk has come, and we are young and in
a deeply troubled sleep
too deep
to surface
again without our sin
subsuming
everything lovely
so, darling, sleep
and dream eternally
ugly things
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
i am a moth drawn to the flame of despair
flutter through the air
no care
for body
just the burning of my soul
the yearning to know
what it feels like
to throw
everything away
in hopes
that dawn is close
closer then is possible
that time flows faster
when you're giving your all
for the promise of tomorrow
where tomorrow is
worlds away
from today
and its sorrows
and that sorrow will someday
be a sweet memory to borrow
from when the joy becomes
too much to bear
i am a moth in a world aflame
it looks like hell
but apparently
hell other people
and i'm sick of feeling
sinful for feeling
the sorrow of my fellow
tortured torturers
they tell me i'm too hollow
that riding the updraft is no good
and being tossed about the firestorm
is for fools
and i'm as flighty as a feather
in weather unsuitable
to be out in
yet i'm part of this world
and to lock away my soul sounds
abominable
so a throw to the wind
to see where it goes
it might singe
but it's worth it: the sorrow
i am a moth telling myself i'm not
and blaming it on outside sources
but being honest shows
my woes are my woes
and everybody knows
their own
and i just speculate and spectate; trying to know my fellow moths
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
black and white lines
my mind with meaning
lost in the
cycle of searching for
something to see and
believe in that means i don't have to
be something i can't be
that perfection is possibility
and that--possibly--
i won't sink into
everything i need to be
to believe i don't hate me
and need to continue to be
alive
and that living in sight
of everyone's
awful eyes
isn't as condemning as
i think it is
when i'm
not quite asleep
but nonetheless dreaming
everyone everywhere
hates to be
here with all our
collective sadness
and that sadness isn't
a death sentence
and we can speak something
else entirely
ennobling eternity
and our live so fleeting
this feeling is believing, so call me a saint of
spoken
sorrow
and
contradictions
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
i try to breathe as little as possible
in order to leave less of a
carbon dioxide footprint on
the heights of heaven
to walk the halls of the cloud world
feels profane enough to ****
all the words from
my mouth; so shut
away my weakly words
whispered to the clouds
in hopes that god might hear
i'm trying to believe in magic made
in the speaking of dreams
and things the mind
so loves to keep
holding on to
perpetuating
the sorrow
i feel
but now i'm drowning in enough oxygen
to fuel the sun for millennia
to come in a future
without fear
fear that i might be living in times
deemed damnable by angry sky gods
of ancient times when people
lied more and told
themselves they were fearful
but proud to be so, all within
the same apocryphal breath breathed out
so you might have eternal life, and never make another sound
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
oval bubbles
distortion forestalled
just a little longer than
normalcy systems
and I'll system you
into the blue of one
thousand thousand seas beyond
my good graces
drain azure ichor from
gods long gone
from all we wanted
when we were young
yonder 'round Neptune
lies death in the void
of wisp-words whipped
through teeth like tears in the universe
you make me so sick
you make me death wish
and doom dance in several shades
darker than recommended--
wind in ethereal ears bled dry
would to the one
thousand thousand gods
you waste into worlds of dust
drawn from dark corners of
alternate universal commandments broken beyond recompense
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
within lifetimes from now
what will we be
what achievements might
twist us into something
beyond imagining, but
what if it's worse than
we could think
the future is
a foreign place
with untrod ground
and dark woods
and dark seas
boiling with possibility
for great and
terrible things
where will our feet lead
what paths will we
go down
descending into
a world which won't
recognize us for
what we once were
what happens when
we lose ourselves
to eternity
and the many millions
of possibilities
that might possibly
turns us into
nightmares
built on
foundations of
well-intended dreams
do
what if the stars revile us
and god turns his back on us
and we come to the point
where we deem ourselves
unworthy to continue existing
what if we shouldn't be
what are we
and what will become of us?
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
__black__
like birds in gray skies
black like
the horizon when it dies
black like
flies weaving through the night
in search of light
shown down from
our artificial heaven
black like
a sea of forgotten things
buried beneath sickening
mounds of fresh filth
dredged from our
materialistic dreams
black like
my mother's eye
in the middle
like my father's lies
far from white
like the corners of my room
where I'd contemplate my doom
and wish for things
I shouldn't
___black___
like the soul at it's lowest
worn down to Tartarus
with all the little
demons that make a life
worth killing
and moreover
make such a thing fulfilling
black thoughts
sown by black deeds
give rise to evil things
evil breeds in
black ravines
where light's not
shown to these
forgotten
_lonely_
___dead___
__dreaming things__
deceased because you ceased to shine
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
unbelievably
I am without
I don't know how
it came to this
but it usually does
years passed
like fallen forests
and burnt toast
and leftovers of a meal
made for
those who are hungry
empty tin cans
can't hold sorrow
like a crow can
caw like there's no 'morrow
cry because
people hold hollows
in the places where
we should be woven together
but we were never
ashes and sawdust
remain like revenant
cockroaches
creeping into the ceiling
seeing us as we sleep
as we dream
tell yourself it's all
adream
adrift in what may seem
serene--but instead
it's dead
like carrion in spring
a terrible thing
_what rot_
rust covers every
once shiny wish
we made upon hinges
hoped the floors
would weather the storm
but they don't
"the wood ain't true"
and it's like nothing is right with my world
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC