To tread the depths
of long promised
Death.
I long for those
forsaken ashes
of whom they
promised I would
Be.

To wade the shallows
of promises
and stolen childhoods,
in search of
broken glass
to cut away
the ribbons of blood,
and join in silent song
the ones fogotten.

To sink in frigid waves
of bloodied eyes
and shattered teeth,
in desperate need
of tethering.

To bleed away all warmth.

To let the floods
turn crimson,
and the skies rain rust.

To drown in the emptied
innocence of life.

they have to cut it off
because it's rotting
and the viscera
spewing from it
carries a stench of
Desperation.

they have to sever it
and free my writhing body
of it's bleak and pestilent
corruption,
that oily echoing
of coarse
Lamentations.

they have to cleave it away
so that my mortality
could be postponed
for as long as possible.

My soul.
It must be cut.
It must be severed.
It must be cleaved free of me.

This amputation
is the only thing
that could save
my life...

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's this child
Clinging to every
Step I take,
Reminding me of
All the spears
Our mother
Chucked at our eyelids.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's a little rebel
Churning the bile
Inside my guts,
Screaming at me
About all the sharp edges
Of the road we walk on.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet there's all this responsibility
Weighing me down,
And dragging me
Towards the edges
Of this broken glass path.

I want nothing more than to be left alone.

yet theres an old man
Whispering from the haze.
He tells me to turn back
From this destiny we share.

All that he wants is nothing more than for me to leave him alone.

I've such a secret
to share
with you,
yet all I can do
is whisper.

In such a cacophonous world,
my whispers are
no longer melodies,
but the tapping of
ant feet in a field of green,
under the twisted steel
of man-made birds.

I've such a secret,
but no one
to listen
to me
whisper it.

I stare at those dark markings above,
Knowing how tired I am.

There's a fetid vibration humming
Through my bones,
Through my blood,
Through my every thought.

I'm so exhausted,
Yet I can't sleep.
I'm so exhausted
That the only pill
That could put me to sleep
Is a stray bullet.

There's a rancid susurration chiming
Through my flesh,
Through my bones,
Through the very essence of my coil.

I'm so tired
And in need of sleep.
I'm so tired
That even the cold steel
Of the train tracks
Welcomes me
As the only pillow
I can see myself able
To rest my head upon.

There's a rotten pulsation howling
Through my blood,
Through my bones,
Throughout.

I'm so drained
That an eternity of sleep
Just wouldn't do
Anything...
My only solace
Are the minute finger prints
That echo a memory of starlight
On a darkened ceiling.

You are not an island.
You are not the land beneath your feet.

You are starlight and heat,
the primordial chaos,
the cosmic repeat.
You are ever-changing
into something incomplete,
yet always flowing
beyond your two feet.

You are not the land, nor a lonely street.
You are not an island.
You are not concrete.

don't lie to me.

I've heard those echoes
with every setting of the moon.
I've heard those whispers
with every sunrise
that's ever kissed
the parchment of my skin.

don't lie to me.

I woke up with the constellations,
remembered in the silken threads
of mother time's embrace.
I cleansed my eyes of the gossamers
when starlight was but a distant promise
of a reality yet to burn itself into existence.

don't lie to me.

I couldn't cut it as a weaver
of honey ladened words
heaped upon the nebulae,
derelict between the flowing stelar algae
and that roaring darkenss from which
all things come.

don't lie to me for I have bathed
in the cold light of eternity.