Fallen into madness
Descended into the void
Voyage into the faded
Encapsulate me,
It encapsulates me

Eyes dull and dreary
Voice unsure, and weary
Other times flat, monotone
Even as polished stone

Awake as in slumber
Mind but a dull roar
Full of fog, and mist
Something of a swamp

Seep into the ground
I am buried there
Sink into my bones
Perhaps then they wouldn't be so cold

Unfeeling, no sense upon the keys
Words seem but strange suggestions

For what is time?
Unending, unbending,
Yet curved and looped as string
Jumbled together, tangled

Float with my soul
Float in the waters of the world
Scarcely tethered, held by a thread
Adrift, we are adrift

Walk, forward we move
Into the vast curiosities

Speak, speak to me
Tell me things, knot of words
Decipher them, my brain might
Slow to process
Mull it over
The strangeness of it all

Flesh, it is chilled
Ice to the touch
Cold, they call it cold
But cold is a feeling
One, in which, I lack
Deprived of physical sense
Touch my hand, take it,
I feel only bones.

- January 17th, 2023

Her eyes bespoke
à depth untouched,
an allure of sensual
mystery that she kept
locked inside.

We married, but sadly,
I never found the key
to unlock the voided
recesses of her walled
citadel, containing the
inner depths of unselfish
love and beauty that I'd
hoped resided there.
She remained a self-absorbed
isolated Island unto herself.

Now here you come again to fetch me from the sea,
Ballast in my bones, this girl was born to sink;
A cautionary tale, I slip between the wood,
Limbs whittled thin and feet stained with soot.

But never-mind the waif; she waxes so pale
Drunk on dejection, I ponder the veil
Leaden and listless, for the sirens will sing:
Amaranthine is the color I bleed for the sea.

So I’ll spit out my sorrows wherever they listen,
Pumped me with pills and said that they fixed it.
The darlings have died off; the dolls are all broken,
Just left is me, thin-skinned and soft spoken.

And I’d rather lick knives than chew on love’s gristle,
Like a dog on a chain, I’d run when you whistle.
Far from it now, yet lost in the maze:
Chasing ways out for the rest of my daze.

things can be different
from different point of views.
the same sceneries can be dull
or they can be filled with hues.

the flickering flame can burn
or the flame can be warm.
the water can quench thirst
or the water can bring storm.

we don't have to think alike,
we don't have to be the same.
for some people my words could mean
and for some they could be lame.

There’s a secret in heaven
In the vines weaved through the overcast
Of a leafy canopy
Someone sleeps in the gathering
Of rain puddles and
Drips like the liquid
In an IV
They say,
Someday
We will be free
From our lost ideals
And speak the last words
We can muster
Someday
We will hear them floating in the
Particles of the wind
And become the stories
That the earth
Tells to the stars

Burnt orange is beginning to softly paint the sky
Soon the sunrise will shine full light into my eyes

This is when the midnight blue that was above
Is starting to turn that shade of blue that I love

I am sitting, sipping, waiting for the full light of day
Coffee in my cup is still warm; I'm waiting for the first ray