when I wake,
all I see is her.
painting the walls
in shades of faded memory,
corners alight with streaks of shadows
I couldn't quite shake from last night's vision.
darkened selves lie flat to the floor
trying
as best as we can
to encase our feelings from the light of day ~
but the night has a way of stirring up hidden ruminations
until the tousled identities come crawling to the surface,
bidding their farewell
to secret imposition.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 3:10 AM UTC
perhaps
our bodies are mere vessels
for holding the weight of forgotten moments -
memories drenched
in grief
and chaos and confusion
slipping away, mutating
in the murky churning engine
that is life
as it rattles forward.
a visceral centre of feeling
bordered by a blur,
the weight of memories carried through time's burr
to linger within our cages
of flesh and bone.
the words we once spoke, suddenly condoned -
etched into the skin -
the warmth of a past lover's embrace, unfurling its smoke
to be caught in the crevices
of a grown membrane
that evokes
rich saturated histories,
remnants and debris,
a museum of experiences
bred from antiquity.
perhaps the body
is the holding cell of the intangible,
the gnarly and vivid threads we can't see
a holding cell
of the individual stories we can't speak
yet breathe.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 12:46 AM UTC
the hungry selves sit and paw
at the mirror
of self expansion
attempting to intimidate their way in
to claim ownership of psyche
time and sovereignty
are no match
for the surging appetite of **********
a desire to consume
to rearrange and
overrule the vulnerabilities present
the hungry selves bare their teeth
in growling disapproval
predatory instinct bounces higher
off the chorus of snarls
wishing to shred the skin
from their reflective face
to scratch and mar the surface
of good will
the hungry selves shift and merge
in combat
though a way in shall not be found
amidst the confusing shackles
peace crumbles
under the weight of responsibility
patience perspires
in her irritation
strength overpowers
bickering mouths
and nature rattles forward
with intent
absolving conflicts
electing the new pack leader
a confrontation of one too many selves
a shattering realisation
and a pounding of retreating paws
the meal of
resurrected conscience
suddenly comes
to a pause
at what cost
does knowing oneself
come?
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 8:21 AM UTC
i fill this hunger
with mouthfuls of rich red juice
hoping to quell
the pit of desperation rebuked
i spin my vessel of flesh and bones
around
and around
hoping to provide a blur
of meanings and lines
which no one can dissect nor infer
and when I crash
finally
when I crash
the hard cement rises up to greet me
salted solid slab
colliding with
soft seamless skin
I smile giddily
drunk on my own apathy
a merry go round array
of thoughts
all tumbling
with no end in sight
if I can't cease them
i can at least confuse them
with swiftly spinning sets of dials
until there is no more room
for the mental unloading
no more space
nor void
to feel
instead an ever rotating disc of colours
verdant green teal
and gushing forth
from expressive blues
cheeky yellow tinges
tinting warm amber hues
a palette of mixed emotions
oozing out of me
better out than in
I tell myself
as I continue to spin
the dangerous game of momentum
building up inside of me
once more
pitilessly
I allow the individual strands
to entangle this gore
and teetering
I watch
as my strands of stability unfurl
I am hooked
on playing devil's advocate
to my own mind
defying the forsaken guards
to the entrusted internal tower
when the outside threatens
to pull you
into its sordid bower
around
and around
I continue to spin
and when I crash
yet again
i stay there
motionless limbs
giving in to the rich red juice
as i permit it to infuse
my hair
my hands
my mind
oh, how it soothes
in a twisted
uncaring yet fleetingly satisfying way
a crash
and a demise
one end to another's compromise
a single point dissolved
into an inscrutable rounding
my little game of risk and falling
this is how I satiate
the hunger that calls
this is how I store my emotions
in barrels of waves that stall
this is what i give into
when mind's awry
and heart's amiss
the rich red throes
of saturated bliss.
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 8:29 PM UTC
your image is slow to fade from mind
like a stoic candle lit to last
flickering edges meet hazy memories
a single tear to wipe clean all that bitterness and doubt
clogging the arteries I fear
drainage error
virus downloaded
this mental trap screams: my software corrupted
functioning eroded
wires are crossed
too many conflicting states and feelings over the truth i've lost
truth lies in the fires of my heart's compromise
and it's so much easier to burn my fingers that put out the flames which threaten to devour
than risk inhaling any more suffocating self disclosure
must quash that burning sensation and bury it deep within
under layers of contempt and twisted memories
contorted in their ugly deceit
drown those wisps of smoky desire and longing
in the barrels of reality check discovery you reap
keep it in line
subdue the divine
forge a happy face for the torturer's mastermind
swallow the flames I tell myself like I'd rather swallow the pain
than wear it outside of me like a slim fitting sleeve built to capture every flaw and edge
I'd rather let those flames engulf me
internal rotation
to turn me inside out until I have no choice but to be reborn to emerge from the ashes I mourn of my crumpled past selves
my crumbling disintegrating fragmented selves
all piled up into a corner I'd sought to forget
now to tame that fire and teach it to transform me
pitiful regeneration
teach me the ways of transfiguration
to swallow the flames
and maybe then I could swallow this pain
tame those flames into ritualistic engorgement to keep the contents of my derelict meal inside to bear the fullness of a flame growing larger from which i can't hide but still these edges of your presence flicker and taunt
frayed mental resolve
the damage is done
scorched to the bone,
my heart now hung
upon the sleeve that you have wrung
and indeed see fit
this cobweb i've slung
forlorn drudgery
unsheathed
a cobweb of displaced feeling
conceived
a webbing
of desperate belief:
a web of stained tears
I continue
to weave.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 3:43 AM UTC