i

I am an echo
the size of an insect;
wingless and translucent,
I stick to the walls
of an endless mouth

it speaks of chaos,
the world is on fire
everyone is burning
for love

please don't leave...


ii.

Love is not
loneliness
feeding upon
loneliness

The curves
of a man's tongue
as it rests against
the teeth

sleeps

until
it wakes once more
to shatter the
earth
and scare all
the little ones

iii.

If it is not within me
to share a heart, be
it bruised or broken,
be it sealed in black
or lost in fog

It if is not within me
to continue on, limp
blinded by the past,
torn asunder
by the hidden
hands of ignorance

Then it's final

There's no coming back
from the depths below

Fate smiles approvingly
on the guarded animals
of fortune

iiii.

And I feel myself
make it back somehow,
courage the size of
a feline fang;

it's enough
to tear through

the sadness,

enough to get me

by for a longer

while

There's a choice
whether you
want it or not;

a choice to be made

a choice to be thrown away

choices, like ragged,
1861 copper pennies;

Power sits on
the shelves,
collects dust
as it's owner

takes the blame,

tries hard to shake
the body from
shame;

a victim with a story;

an object with a name;

choices are made

let responsibility
be the reigns

and you behind the scenes,

in your own movie

or game;

the owner of
it all.

I am being held, against my will, by 6 giant creatures in black cloaks. There's no way to get out. I shake, I fight, I gnash with teeth, I scream, and I struggle. They lead me down a dark hallway, to a room with a flickering lamp on top of a small desk. The lamp is of the portable kind, and it seems like it's about to shut off leaving me in the abyss; a total darkness that will engulf me, and in this abyss, there is the chance I may lose my soul, my self, my identity, for good. But there are two blank sheets of paper on the desk.

One black, and one white.

There is a pen in between these papers. Who knew a chair could be a luxury? This is my last hurrah, the moment to define my entire existence from here on out; it will be total blackness soon, that's all there is after the lamp gives out; the unknown, the uncertainty; there are no guarantees I may ever leave, no promises of the creatures coming back for me;

No more light.

The ink of the pen is black. Does it even matter which paper I choose? In the end, it does, because this is my life, and I have a choice, even if it's between two things.

The pen itself, much like the light, is in it's death throes. But I choose to write anyway. 3 words that will define the dark times ahead.

I write:

I needed this.

Ya look all over
and see people
everywhere

hands in pockets,
coins passing through
fingers; gold watches
glimmering beneath the
summer setting sun

These people
are people you could
love, have loved,
and may never love again

We share our
bodies like bees
with their
honey

And it's okay to
lose it all, as though
we never had it
in the first place

The tidal of days
ahead, crashing
against our open mouths;

Productivity
a curse

The pursuit
of happiness
a disease

Ya wonder if
it's going to get
any better;

if it's going to be
as perfect as it
was when we
were children

But the universe
had something
worse
in store for
us
instead

The air condition
hums, the car starts
and the engine
rattles, the baby
coos for warmth;

and somewhere
someone is holding
a door for a woman
who has an appointment
with a doctor;

there's a bump
where there
shouldn't be;

a deep love
that dare
not leave.

The afternoon is like
the bristles of a broom;
I am swept away by
the dance of
grass and blade

If the trees could
speak, our hearts
would hear of
the atrocities our
bodies committed
while we were asleep

Tomorrow is neither
here nor there

I wake up, brush my teeth
rub each arm down with
lotion, and light my
lips with ruby red
matchsticks

I open my mouth
and set the world
ablaze

The evening is a cardinal
resting on the perch
of a Northern Red Oak

and as it sings, my age sinks
deeper, and deeper
into the abyss of my skull

where memories sit like stones,
the voices trying to claw their way out;

going on and on
about what history means,
and has meant to others

As the night approaches,
a death throe emerges;

the grass places soft kisses
against my bare feet,
and I cannot
see color, but feel
it

in everything.

Your night resembles
a worn piece of cloth;
I watch as it flies
in the midnight air;

I am reminded of
the American flag

and a sigh leaves
my body, as it has
so many times before

This is a life
worth leaving

The bones
no longer feel
like stones;

The flesh
ignores the desires
and wishes
of it's owner,

The mouth
tangoes with
the tongue
leaving the
words tangled
in knots

Let me wither away
as most tangible objects do

Be it on a hospital bed,
behind an alley way,
or with my fiendish
friends

We'll cross paths someday
and you'll clutch the purse,
I'll cross the street, we'll
keep to our own sick,
sad devices

and wonder if
it would've been
better had we
never been born at all;

except I would've
got it all wrong;

mistaking your
frown for something profound

Disappointment
reigns heavy in
the hearts that fear
failure