Windows into other lives.
Don't climb out;
You'll fall and die.

My friend caught me laughing whilst crying.
He said "umm are you going insane?"
"Dear friend, have a seat.
Let me tell you this funny thing about pain.
When you're hurting your senses swirl
And sooner than later everything sounds the same.
Like, "I love You" sounds just like "There's someone else."
The roses they bring you are bewitching, but lean in and a stranger's scent is all you'll smell.
I mean, yes they'll carress you like it's the first time, but your replacement is all you'll feel.
Confusion will paint illusions, soon all happy sights your mind is refusing & you can't see what's real.
& taste? Dear friend, The ultimate bitter is taste.
It's like collapsing & dropping your time casserole; all you can do is stare down, what a waste.
So I know you're confused as you stare at my bright smile as my eyes are running.
But to be honest with you, I'm puzzled, I can't quite decipher if it hurts or its funny."

We're all one heartbreak away from insanity.

The threat of tinsel hangs heavy around my house and
every surface I have tarnished with gaudy colours, one
handed angels and effigies of flightless birds.

I remember one year, as nights drew in and wrapped us
in its sightless embrace and my sisters and I still shared
one tiny room and you, dressed in a ridiculous red
dressing gown, crept loudly into our room.

Eyes closed but lips lit, we paraded our false slumber
as you offered a rumbling "** ** **", gifting allies
laughter that shivered in our beds.

I remember the next, as your trembling hands fluttered,
never touching, the presents we had each bought ourselves,
as it has become too bright for you to step outside.

You wept and I drew my face stoic
as those aged hands trembled and these bitter claws
ripped and tore and vainly tried to stick
fragile paper back together with meaningless scraps of tape.

Your face whispered, "shouldn't be wrapping your own presents"
as white salt mapped fresh rivers, traced on giving skin.

I avoided the rain clouds of your sound;
methodically trying to appease this sadness.

My voice lilted of forgiveness but my body, such young bones, so
rough-raged and rigid, spoke of a bitterness I would've died
to hide like the tears you used to try to.

Smoke and gaslight and pretty little parcels wrapped in gold,
maybe if we bury all under forgiving paper, living can
play as happy as the paltry promise of this season.

It was not me, who put you into the dark
It was not me, who put too much hate upon himself
It was not me, who made you so imperfect
          Who choose this life for us?
                   It was you,
                             I am only a shadow in every decision.
The weak link, the forgotten will
of one’s owned heart, truly remains in the corner…
.
.
.
*Simply the ghost, who whispers in total silence.

Dear Santa

I’m writing early this year
Especially after the debacle of last year
You delivered the **** underwear and the two day hotel break to my wife
What the hell were you thinking
Does my wife look like she can get into a size ten
You useless fat *******
Two days I had to suffer the wife parading herself
It was psychological torture
Swear to god, if I could’ve got my hands on you
Still swithering on sueing your fat ***
This year I’m going to lay it on the line
Deliver it to the wrong address
Your ** ** **, will be Oh oh oh
Do I make myself clear
Now listen up
Facepack and support tights
They go to the wife
Basque and french knickers, hotel included
Too the lover
Don’t make me go back to that hotel with the wife
Or I swear, you’ll be wearing that reindeer
Do you need a reminder
Have you got it now
Oh, and merry Christmas.

Dear friend,
I wish you could tell me
how am I supposed to speak when I know
my words will never reach your ears again,
how am I supposed to breathe when I know
that I no longer share the air with you,
how am I supposed to listen to anything
when I know my ears will never hear your voice again?

Dear fried, tell me
how am I supposed to wake up every morning
and see the daylight
when I know my eyes will never meet yours again?

How am I supposed to touch anything when I know
that my hands will never again touch your skin?
and tell me,
how am I supposed to feel warm
when your arms will never again be around my body?

Dear friend, please tell me
how am I supposed to let other lips kiss my forehead?

How am I supposed to smell the tulips again
Without remembering how you used to say that
I am like a tulip —beautiful in my simplicity?

Dear friend, please tell me
How could you go
When you promised you would never ever
Leave me?

When you’re in hell
And it seems impossible
To escape it

When you don’t know
Who to believe any more

When you are tired
Of the threats
Of an angry world

Believe in yourself
Believe

Pay no heed
To the honeyed voices
Of money chasers

Hold no court
With jealous naysayers

Trust in the flame
That burns
In the deepest layers
Of your life

After all
True joy
Only lies within

This painful road
Will turn

The fresh breeze
Of a new beginning

Awaits

I have traveled this road.
I have traveled this road since first,
I came to be here.

This journey was my awakening
as to the new existence
I would step into.

Foreign to me, the illustrious homes.
Huge dripping willows,
old oaks, and poplars...
Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns left behind
in lush green grass...

This road is winding.
One needs to go slowly.
Families, children, animals, 
all enjoy this path.

The wind blows at this highest point,
up above the glacial basin
that forms the river below.
Once all farmland.
before...
home of
Ojibwa,
Lakota

The Spring.
The Deep Spring of Healing.
Ancient, pouring forth
from the center of the Earth.

This winding
windy road,
brought me to a place of solitude...
an open space.
Land of endless possibilities.

I have traveled this road. 
I have traveled this road
since first
I came to be here.

This road was my awakening as to the
new existence I would step into.

Perfectly kept grounds.
Checkerboard patterns left behind
in lush green grass.

The wind blows at this highest Point,
up above the Glacial Basin,
that forms the river below

Once all farmland.
Before...
Home of
Ojibwe,
Lakota.

The Spring.
The Deep Spring of Healing.

Ancient, pouring forth from the center of the earth.

This spring, that has quenched my families thirst.
This spring, that brought my family here 14 years ago

This road
brought me to a place of solitude...
An open space.
A land of dreams.

And yet..I wonder,
what dreams
will this land hold for Me?