Anxiety is a **** curse.
You are sabotaged by your own body and mind.
It twists your reality like it's in your DNA.
Makes you believe you are not worthy or friendships,
love or even your own reflection.
Choices come in small, extra small or sleep until it's over.
Doubting the safety of the ride to work
or if staying in bed will **** you first.
Is it better to be sick or cry.
To shake apart or hold it together.
Intrusive thoughts are a plague
but maybe you'll die from that too.
Your heart reminds you it can stop at any moment
and to prove the point it then beats so loud
even the dog can hear it.
You don't know why it happens
because your brain is on lock down
and there's nothing you can do about it.
Your very bones betray you
shaking like they have nothing better to do..
like hold you up.
Anxiety takes you hostage
and the ransom you pay
is the freedom of feeling normal.

You play with the light of the universe
You place the stars within my sight

its only a distant world I'm trying to reach
My ever eternal home

You paint color onto the dark
You place the blue iris in my eyes

And the empty space between the stars
Can only be filled by your love

You dance with the dying suns
And move within me as my heart beat

And even the blood I bleed
Spills to spell your name

Your mind is a shining cosmos
Containing every part of me

You were born as a supernova
You are my beginning and my end

Your love is the first star
And the last one

It wasn't a smooth journey,
Twists and turns at every corner
And there were whispered words
Of a premature death among the discord
Of his selfish persona, he wanted to
Know what it's like when you die.

Along the extreme elongated portico
Held in captivating glory of falling sun
Attached to a man sitting on sunsets
Alone in a chair with an empty coffee cup,
Dedpoet wrote his final verses:

I am not the harmonious fluke,
But the orchestrated chaos of the soul,
I flee no challenges, save life, whose teeth
Have sunken deeply as two rivals
At once, I am the coronation of effigies
Whom laughed behind their masked
Intentions, I sit on the pedestal of irony.

I strung magic words like pearls
And spoke like winged creatures through
Gentle air, both volatile strings pulled
Because the violins were in tune,
Alas, I am the curse to mine own life,
The fool who believes in love,
Both lovely and perverse,
My soul is a crystal pale glance
With moist and starry eyed conflicts,
I destroy the flower with regrets.

And now at the precious end
I gallantly provide a word of lasting torture,
Meet me at the gallows,
A sun with a court of stars
And let us fade into the light
As though into the shadows.

She's our woman who does
so she is
here once a week
her name is Viv
she sweeps the floor
washes the tiles
arranges the papers in neat little piles
flicks a duster across a few things
breaks a saucer
and gently places it into the bin

The thaw begins with a drip,
builds to a roar, subsides to sunlight
prisms playing over every surface

illuminating still-wet velvet wings
maroon and yellow, neon blue
pseudo-bark underneath.

In the clear-cut, pink fireweed
pierces a sky alive with souls
reveling in their last year on earth

sampling nectar with newly curled
tongues while summer degrades
to fall, burrowing in the cool

damp cord of fir put up for winter
awakening in spring, tasting summer
before the reprieve, too soon over

time come to fold
battered wings, to slip free
of this mourning cloak and rise.