Stepping into another realm
where pain and sadness and happiness gladness
and regret bear no acceptance,
and are left at the door as I left at the door
my sanity, my humanity, my will to breathe.
Floating among shadows of past and of lives so far away.
Lives so forgotten and memories of childhood bliss
and content now become
droplets of terror
which form holes in time,
gaps in my life as the presence
which once existed in those gaps no longer exists in my world.
Walking among these shadows
and seeing the blankness in their eyes,
their hollowed shells rise and walk alongside me,
beckoning me.
Frivolous eyes of null draw the life from within me.
Life and organs and blood pumping
throughout a numbed body
as my organs transform before escaping.
Heart frosting over,
icicles forming,
further numbing my already numbed existence.
Veins like blackened highways of broken stone
crackle becoming dust
before seeping through my pores,
forever leaving my body.
The rest of me exits anyway it can
until I become a shell,
walking among shells,
casting shadows among shadows
and becoming a shade among shades.

Merely existing but surely
out of place,
neither captive nor
adventure will
calmly erase
hidden shadows which lurk
beneath eyes, in my mind,
playing disarrayed
songs,
in much
sadness I'll find.

People always believed
I was strong,
and though I loved to play along,
the truth was,
I have never been strong;
merely a brilliant actress,
for as soon as the curtains close,
and the audience leaves the auditorium,

I break.

Another night awaits
for my limbs to dangle
from that swiveled chair
as mirages pace the halls.

Mirages?

Keeping my office at the brink of 84 degrees
to ensure my brisk, chilled heart
warms for the night.
Icicles form, coaxing my veins of merlot
into the most ultramarine,

before blackening to obsidian.

An obsidian frost
travels my body like highways
and interstates transporting
the most precious cargo from state to state
ensuring this country stays in good health.

My body is a country?

Veins like blackened highways of broken stone
and eyes like stars darkening to night.
Hair that sways in the sultry wind
while auburn tips lick the curve of my back,
like trees dancing in the night

tickling the grass.

Blink a few times,
I'm still in my swiveled chair,
swiveling and swaying,
forever in my swiveled chair
as the walls hum a silent, coaxing lullaby.
Where are the people within the walls?
I have forgotten,

there are no people within the walls.

I don’t even recognize myself.
At some point I stepped into a fog and forgot who I was before,
while acquiring a new likability and endearment.
Time stops
I reflect on my former self and she is a million miles away.
Yesterday is a million miles away.
The sun is ninety-one million miles away.
I descended into the stars and landed ninety-one millions miles from earth,
to touch the fiery surface.

My skin melts from my bones into an olive puddle.
Gathering the molten remains into my pocket,
I am thrown into obsidian.
Tumbling and falling, gasping for air,
while remnants of my light trickles into the night sky.
Entering the Milky Way and crying for solace,
my ascension to earth comes to an end.
Landing so heavily,
as the weight of my sorrows burrows within,
I think back to the particles within my clothes.

Slowly and solemnly the remains are picked from my pocket.
Changed
and unrecognizable,
I stretch them over my charred bones, until finally,
I am masked from their eyes.
My eyes have darkened and my soul has weakened.
The weak and weary screams from my lungs
detonate the irrational beating of my heart.
The heart that once beat for life,
like a clock ticking towards excitement now ticks as a timer,
pending my inevitable end.

In the end,
Edward Bloom became what he always was,
and that was a very big fish.
Will I die with the fish?
Will my soul be trapped in this echo in time I’m forced to repeat every day,
where I’m drowning and drowning;
my lungs have tightened,
as exhaustion overwhelms me.
I’ve exhausted my options.
There is nothing left but the act of living.

My body has lived but my soul has died.
The goodbyes were said long ago.
Remembering what life was before I died is unimaginable.
Was there a life before this?
Were my eyes ever brighter to the average man?
Was the hole in my chest ever filled with content?
To speak of this would assure my final farewell.
The farewell of my body as well.
The memory of my existence as well.

Sorrow was strolling
a chill-bitten road
humming a tune,
as he passed an abode

that was lit by a furnace;
shadows danced in the glow
that the furnace cast
upon the frosted window.

Sorrow stopped for a time
to glance at the light,
then began reminiscing
to a long-ago night:

delicate child
prancing lightly around
a rain-beaten cove,
not a tear to be found.

This child bearing joy
kicks puddles in cheer,
then sees a colorful frog
on a log that is near.

He sits by this frog
with intent in his stare,
then the frog speaks clearly
"Boy, you better beware."

Confused by the voice
that sent ripples along
the puddle he sat in,
like a prophetical song.

With a tilt to his head
the boy then replied,
"What an odd thing to say,
dear frog who is pied."

The frog was quick
to retort less than coy,
"Oh, you should understand
what is coming, dear boy:

a shadow will fall
from the blue sky above,
engulfing your sight
until it darkens your love.

It will then cast a shade
which will follow your life
through the rest of your days,
bearing continual strife."

The boy quivered his lip
and sat back with despair,
as he saw the sky gray
and felt the thickening air.

His days of laughter
and innocent play,
have been cruelly stolen
on his last childhood-day.

Suddenly the boy glanced
locking eyes with the man,
who still stood in the frost,
who was glancing again

at the house which shown shadows
of delight once before,
now sits darkened and frowning
with a dilapidated door.

Sorrow now covered
in crystalized thought,
brushes icicles away
of intricate wrought.

He returns to his travel
on that chill-bitten road,
humming a tune saying,
"Goodbye, sweet abode."

You                                                              ­                                       have
 
  always                                                ­                                          been 
 
    a butterfly;                                                       ­              waiting for
        your day to                                                       break from that
          cocoon. At least                                       cocoons are warm
              and cozy, they                 say.         Cozy, until someone
                walks by, piercing holes,      creating a draft. Though
                    it’s easier to breathe and much clearer to see.
            May it be better to pierce        holes in the cocoon than
           in those completed wings?        Creating more flexibility,
               it is much easier to                     expand, though it
                  raises the risk                          of being shattered                    
                   before those                                 wings have
                         fully                                          matured.