Odds stacked, but the overbearing
Often mistaken thoughts that are lending
More and more credence to my mind

Jaw slacked, but this mind has been sharpened
Its more than a fact, we breathe brokenhearted
But it's going to take far more than that this time

We spoke once, before it was over
We must speak again, cure the disorder
You're the only medicine I have in mind

Oblivion, or the loss of retention
Mysterious, if only for the second
Don't leave me sinking slowly into brine

It only takes a start and
You'll find yourself in time
Down an over guarded
Vaulted false start of a ending
A flower in despair
I wish that I could meet you there
Tell you that it's all right
That dusk will never fade to night
And that I'll never watch you fade across
The seconds on my clock
A million pinprick electric shocks

And all the while the stage is set

I'd bring you into my embrace
Reality would slip away
The world still barely ringing in my ears
Ten thousand empty gestures
Ten thousand empty questions
And you'd become the ringing in my ears

All while the sky turns
Black without a single star
And the stage is set outside
But in the darkness
We still try


Not another
Syllable can struggle through my throat
My words I have to choke
for the both of us, I suppose
But I just want to say
I still love the way you play with
The way that I emote
You'll come back to me, I hope
All that's left is to take the stage
Saint Audrey Mar 7
The world always seems to leave me speechless
I don't understand, the things that you needed
Can we trust what they're showing on TV
If reality's a lie

So drag me back to the classics, I think
I need something for this ache
So take me back to yesterday
Today's one day too late

When I don't trust the words of the ones that hold me close
Its getting close enough to be a threat, I think

The air you expel leaves me so damn breathless
With all of this time, I expected advances
So tear down with disregard
There is nothing for me to hide

I wish I could read in a mix of context
Believe you me, this isn't a contest
Tear down this disregard
I've been running short on time

You keep running once you hit the ground
I'm barely here, but you keep screaming at me
Or at least, what used to be
You're late to the party being burnt down in your name

I'm leaving footsteps in the ashes
Saint Audrey Mar 2
The tension is rising slowly, as the blood pools beneath fingernails
I can hear the ropes start snapping, brittle as a leaf
The bells begin tolling, the vultures swirl amid the frigid air
Of the televised devastation of the week

I hide my true intentions, I do
Somewhat well, if I must then
Admit to something,
I didn't really care too

Stop me if you've heard this one before
Or heard it better, somewhere else
Sending money through the wire
Never ending crimson flow

Past the thoughts of victims
Intuition caught in undertow

Masqurades with musket powder, kegs
And lampshades tinted red

Festering my own psychotic
Philanthropic need for death

Sending money through a wire
Rising slowly through the smoke

Laughter bursting through the cracks
Of somebody's final joke

Celebrations, conversation
Windowpains and slitting throats

Powers set to loosen grips
But destitute, watch me still choke

I think its time we could talk about the ending
Open the intent that we're pretending
Its something to be said aloud
Lost within the frigid clouds above

Oceans slowly forming up above
torrents under spoken like a flood

Oceans slowly forming up above
The mainland
Saint Audrey Feb 24
It was less than half an honest moment, but
I could still feel our minds entwine like roots
Forming, out of sight, out of our thoughts
Beyond our narrow scope, and I could feel the
Tendrils weaving around the core of me
I could feel _ spiraling down from above
Through feet of clay and mud so apologetically removed
By layer

Numbered, if formed at all, I
Arranged them all so carefully, but...

And then it was over
Roots having bred through it all, and survived long after
To this day
Saint Audrey Jan 16
Someone asked me what my favorite color was recently. Its something I've thought about, actually. I don't remember what I told them, in all honesty.

In the corner of east Hartford Connecticut, there's an old church, mostly brick with tall steeple covered in off white siding. There's a basement, just around the entrance and down a short flight of steps. Really, just a hallway with a series of rooms off to each side.

The largest of these is a long rectangle, stacked high with bookshelves holding dusty volumes of varying books. The variation in shape and size makes the old lacquered shelves look disorganized, and the little dust drifts built up in the corners where the books meet the sides only add to the effect.

There's dust in the air, and you can see it swirling in the sunbeams that break through the two small windows nestled in just below the ceiling. It settles and swirls along cheap plastic tables, the tops of which are scarred and faded from years of use and disuse.  Along the back there stand a few armchairs, big cushioned things with bits of stuffing sticking out from worn seams.

I used to sit in them, and think. I hated church, or, at least I had convinced myself I did. But sometimes, being alone on a cloudy day, surrounded by the years of earnest caring that had seeped into the walls, and the trashy furniture...

Even the cheap, commercial bullshit scattered here and there had gained some level of sentimental value, just by soaking in the atmosphere for so long.

And, I can remember tracing the sunbeams on cold quiet Saturdays

A mess of orange shag that had been worn to the thread, stretched over concrete, thin enough that the cold would bleed up from below and mix into the foot of air above the ground.

It was hideous, but no matter what, I can't stop thinking about that color. Dull and lifeless, but still able to catch the last rays of sun in a way I still can't describe.

This is a first draft, and I'm not going to reread this to fix anything
Saint Audrey Jan 6
The softest whispers of
Past ideas, and inclinations
Postulating long ignored dreams
Of dead progenitors seen with malcontent
Looked down upon by even unkempt whores

I've spoken to the architects and engineers

Most come to understand the past lies in fragments
But I've met the ones to piece it back again

Crucial details overlooked, time and time again
Lost amid a sea of bleak optimism
Futurism has its place, along side the winds
The ones that bring the same tired tides

I've drawn myself yet another party line
The definition is as lucid as I am, it seems
Self aware, and yet its me, a reflection of identy
Who am I again?

And they come, without a hint of knowing why
The army that's become a master of the airlines
Only figments in the sky
Only made to pertain
To the borderlines and meaningless half colored signs

Still painted on the runways

Still running down the hallways

Onward and forwards, the dead still proclaim
Even after their story closes
After death, so many still remain, if only for the moments
They have left to spend awake
When everything is influenced with what you'll have to take
Once you're gone

And once you're gone
And once you've crossed into a flowing stream
It seems to be a standstill but
Some see it differently

Cosmic mistrust, a classic case
You call a must have
Laughably masked attempt to undue the ending
Blood has prepared you for, oxygen raised you for
Natural order now spurned, lying to yourself
Floor to ceiling, ceiling to walls
Connected them seamlessly

What are you still fighting for, now?

But I get it, the opening seemed too pure
And then the endurance test only served to sever
And suture the will that you wore
An armor that's more then this world could obsure

There's no point to this poem
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