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I cannot tell real life from illusion
I have suffered a contusion not of the body but of the mind
I can no longer put my worries to rest for they have insomnia
I see monsters not only in nightmares but walking behind me down the street
I hear the voices calling me even when im in an empty room
I smell blood even though there is no wound
I can no longer keep the peace, there is a rebelion in my head
I can no longer take solace in my own bed
I am drowning in a sea of fear and sheer terror
I can no longer hold onto this ledge
I will fall right off the edge of reality
Right into the bed of **insanity
No
No i will not write you a poem
I will not write about how the light dances in your eyes
Or how your face makes me think of starry night skies
I will not string the perfect concoction of syllables and rhymes
Just so you can feel special
I will not write you a poem
You are far too judgmental
Every poem has a meaning
This ones is slightly demeaning
*********
Some girl at school found some of my stuff and tried to force me to write a poem about her. Not happening
I'm sorry
Sorry I'm ugly
Sorry I'm too loud
Sorry I am too tall
Sorry I snort when I laugh
Sorry I'm too skinny
Sorry I don't wear that much makeup
Sorry I'm too poor to replace broken shoes
Sorry I'm not everything you wanted me to be
You look at me from the outside
Like a fish in a clear glass bowl
You only see me swimming peacefully
As I stare back at you fearfully
All you see are the bubbles escaping my mouth
But cannot hear the screams that come out
Tap, tap, tap you hit the glass
I feel the vibrating
And think I am dying
Unable to swim away from your terror
You wave at me, unaware of your error
Smiling a wide toothed grin
You look at me from the outside in
Can you hear them whispering
There inside my brain
Can you hear them tinkering
Trying to shake lose what is sane
Can you hear them Clamouring
There inside my mind
Can you hear them favouring
With sadness all they find
Can you hear them plotting
There inside my cranium
Can you hear them knotting
All my thoughts till thier alien
Can you hear them screaming
There inside my brain
Can you hear them scheming
They are driving me insane


The voices here inside my skull
Are always chattering, never a lull
They are bent on my destruction
At first it was a sweet seduction
Now it's a roaring wave
Trying my head to cave
I can hear them as plain as day
Can you hear them what they say
Those voices in my head
All them yelling, one thing said
They only want me dead
 May 2016 Axle Avatari
Wanderer
I once dreamed of tracing Ghost lines
Now I do in waking life
Shadows catching shape and form of those missing
From those left behind
By candle light you are whispered
When gloaming lays still in the chilled evening air
I remember an autumn, not long ago
That made all those before it
Pale
On Equinox morning I became a wife
Two and a half years later I lost that life
Words fall short
Your arms never squeeze tight enough
hold close enough
Those that hurt
I am not made of paper mâché
I am steel, spider silk, diamond bright
With alligator skin that is all too thin
Don't ask me if I am okay
That word no longer plays a part
Focus on the silver lining
*Not on your broken heart
 May 2016 Axle Avatari
Stephan
.

Driving by,
lost on a side street
directly in the middle
of where I never wanted to be

Clamoring at the expectations
strewn along the curb
between the broken dishwasher
and empty beer cans

Where neighborhood gnomes
painted gaily colors
wave as if they know me,
but I ignore them – sort of

There is one though
with a hollow bookish smile
that seems familiar
or is it the tulips

A wooden staircase,
worn planks in a grey stain
lead to an entrance where an ornate
metal light fixture sways in the breeze

Your porch used to look like that
but this door is standing open
behind a welcome mat with a clover,
wish I hadn’t lost that rabbit’s foot

Maybe I am lucky after all,
just found a spot with ten minutes
remaining on the meter, forget it,
it took me fifteen minutes to park

The empty passenger seat
still holds your form,
at least I can see it -
Corinthian leather never forgets

A speed bump at 40 mph
rattles me back behind the wheel
when I see the bank clock flashes 5:00 pm,
still offering a free toaster

And that’s it, another Sunday afternoon
wasted as much as I am,
spinning my wheels
with just enough gas to get back home,

alone
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