Heed this breath.
I want nothing more than your death,
in my mind of endless breadth-
lies no room for interchangeable personas.

Each like a mask, revealing and concealing
Expression and depression of character.
The clarity of ambiguity is rather healing
my past lassitude. My endearing solitude.

The view from up here is grandiose.
Pertaining not to a certain indulgence;
The ores of my throne are ones of perseverance,
of bruised rock polished to lighten my eyes.

Daring to extinguish flames of grace and womanity-
you are a fool.
An image of a cracked woman needs no validation
from the male gaze.
Prepare her horse for the highway of damnation.

In the black of the window
neon and restless lights
continue from the evening
to early morning
Rapid fingers weaving
shapes in the air
which crawl on her skin-
as well as the neighbours shouting from below.

This feeling never seems to stop
a hundred cups of coffee
could not comprehend
The pounding of the chest,
tired and veiny eyes
Symbiotic with the wired mind;
the air is so thick with angst-
piercing the window is not
enough to escape this
virtual reality.

Head on the ground.
Not much to see within
this hollowed body,
Swerving around
in the passage of a vacuous aorta.

One look of you-
and my stomach is upside down.
Loud retinas processing
a radioactive image of
heat and danger.

To this Hell, I am bound
if I continue speak and stare.
Hiding in silence is unnervingly peaceful;
until I touch one thread
of your reckless web-

and begin playing
a mind cassette
of the many times
I washed his feet with my hair.

Only to find that
the saviour was a fragrant sinner.

Some escape, I could pleasure-
For having grieved my obedient self;
A girl to be moulded to have a mind
As narrow as her waist and
Regret not having tasted the sweet fruits
Nature does grant by human rite.

In my weary hours of death
I find myself, petrified, through slow glass-
Shifting and shaking through cruelty.
Heaving and hurling through naivety.
The frozen image of terrified marionette
Who's stare pierces me with a frosty vignette.

I could be wrong
to assume a nymph
lies sub rosa; her *******
Folding over the sharpness
of ribs, flesh waiting to
be kissed and ravished.

My stomach a
green enveloped almanac,
to the pursuits and ends
of truth. A truth that
comes from an unreliable
narrator seeking anguish.

But to punish himself
is to carve hollows
in my skull and chest
And feed my decrepit organs
with jealous ghouls
and conspiring goblins.

Deep and black
But far from fright
Her waves smile at me.

Without speech
She murmurs softly
As if she has once felt pain.

Who am I to think
She has not confronted
Loneliness or change.

Though words cannot
Comprehend this ephemeral whisper
I see more in her darkness than in daylight.

We all find in those moments
Where we feel a fraction of our being-
Intense despair for something we
Had yesterday or lack
In our celestial thoughts of
Greatness.

If our thoughts in these times of sadness
Were mapped out in the universe
There would be implosions
And constellations crashing against
The harmony of our galaxy:
The system we seek to control.

But to control it is to misunderstand
The mysteries and inconveniences
That give us awareness of
Habits we should leave
People we should farewell
And wounds that must seal.

I shy away
in clouds of self-reflection
that cast shadows over
human nature's clarity.

Reversing a cocoon
my fragile organs, exposed- hang
To display their veiny
functions and dysfunctions.

Transfixed on a cellular level
I am complicated. I am mechanical.
Repeat routines and manage my capital.
Resistance faces dreams that are radical.

Auto-immune to my own feelings
or thoughts- I reject myself.
And neglect the wonder of
just being alive.

So much can be read
from those graphite and inky
Furs which sweep
across the Velvet Doors.

Three hundred and sixty
perspectives of light
Enamoured by dying
crystals in the night.

Search for me in your deepest woes
Do not be gentle with your shows.

For it is not easy to find a locket in the mist
And harder for the trapeze to twist-

and break with truth.
Naivety pirouettes beyond youth.

Circus nature preys and submits in hurdles
Upsets the fragile body with tight girdles.

Blisters shall form lest you be still
But comfort never satisfies the thrill.

Lately,
I think of words as air
That chant sparks into flames.

Violent pyres- if you abuse.
Or a tamed Medusa- if you peruse.

Surely,
It would put the mind at ease
To expire and water these flames.

A warning, nay comes with a beacon
Intuition with your saliva may weaken.

I would do nothing
Nothing, without you.

Yes! You, in my reflection
Know that you have infinite worth.
You are worthy.
If you cannot feel it today
Do not be scared.
It will come another day.
When the sun rises
And your aspirations are out of reach
Know that the glow of
The Entity will show
In the deepest tunnels.

And if you have no aspirations?
Child, do not abuse the vessel
That seeks to thrive. Danger
Will come if you wrestle with thyself.
Take some time, eat some hours.
Time is not against you. She is
The current to your growth.
The reciprocal parasite under oath.

So, I will do nothing without you.
Without you, there is nothing.

It is these hands that touch.
It is these eyes that see.
It is this body which carries
The incandescent hope.

It drains me
to drain myself
And train my body
to be someone else.

Smiling through
watery eyes
Concealing hues
with cosmetic lies.

It chains me
to chain myself
And pains my body
because I am not myself.

Laughing at
my successful mistakes
Sexing away
the heavy stakes.

It strains me
to strain myself
And search for my body
within myself.

I would sit
Upon the tall rock
And listen to the gentle hum of the wind.

And for a moment-
I was sinking into myself.
Discovering foreign parts.

I felt alien to the skin I was encased in.
And yet this exoskeleton,
Was protecting me from joy.

My watery eyes gazed to a faraway land
Where my future lay, dormant.

Lifeless creeks and silence among the fauna,
As I looked into the forsaken reflection of the river.

I felt loneliness like the cold
And every fine hair stood up;
Still and frozen.

My sins are scarlet-
they shall not be as white as snow.
I have bathed in them so long, my skin hath stained.

Unlike the cherry blossom,
My chest is full of seeds, which have thus not sprouted.

My mishaps are red as crimson- they shall be not be as pure and soft as wool.

I bear my shame with shackles and walk around aimlessly.
I fail to navigate through the smog- which I have created.

I can't move you.
I can't move mountains,
or the sea.

I can't be there for you.
I can't feel your warmth
next to me.

Since you left, my dear
The days have been cold
And all the leaves are gold.

When you left me
I saw grey skies in the summer
All rain and thunder.

But I must move on
The pain must be gone
Before the pain becomes me.

So, I can't move you
I can't move mountains
or the sea.

Said, I can't love you
I can't hold you-
even when I want you-
my baby.

But if you need someone to understand
If you need a helping hand-
I can be there- if you only needed me.

You don't need to move mountains
You don't need to move the sea-
or me.

Beyond this world
There lies a world where, you, wander-

Though you have no visage, or voice
Your warmth and waves still caress my soul.

When I lay, enveloped in the darkness
You shine a ward: because you are not heartless.

When I cry, awakening the hellish storms
You are the bucket for my floods; life reforms.

But you are not bound by life- you no longer sense gravity.
You see me through a stained glass of concavity.

Like shadows that follow and linger, only in the presence of light-
You are present and comfort me from my deepest fright.

An entity that floats in a silent, tranquil rift
You have given me strength and courage as a gift.

So whenever I long for you-
You will come to visit.
Sit down and tell me your story...
...My parallel spirit.

A moment, eternal-
As I write these words in my journal.

I do not write for the sake of writing.
I do not write for the egotistical citing.

Wherever I may be and whatever I am doing
There are constantly thoughts and ideas brewing.

And, yes, those thoughts may be neither good or bad
They may uplift others, but inside make me sad.

Whilst you read and try to find meaning,
You may never understand, behind the book, what I am feeling.

There may be times that we have parallel energies;
Like constellations bring their warming memories.

Alas, nothing is permanent, even those galaxies far away
Pleasure and pain are inevitable to decay.

What a fickle thing verses and lines are,
Shifting colour from blue to red, a young and old star.

You need not hesitate to paint the abstract
Carve moons in my eyes and play the act.

Lies and truths have their worth in tales
The narrator may indeed bargain for their sales.

The rain may keep falling, icy storms in silver planes
Whilst you remain caged in the wounding pains.

You need not worry, traveller,
for these words are soothing lullabies.

For now, let's sing under a haven of flora
and look up to the azure skies.

The day will soon come-
When I breathe the final air out of my lungs.
When my final song is sung.