You're burning a seething red beneath
your skin; how long before this garden
burns to ash and the ferns grow?

When you no longer know how your
story goes, how many demons can you
create out of those who you've surrounded

yourself with? These tresses will strangle
the last of you in some ceremonial ground
where all you'll ever hear is the sound

of their voices laughing like a pack of
wildebeests, waiting for when your flesh
is no longer owned by your bones.

They'll pick you apart like a child
in a corridor full of strangers much
stronger than you; go to bed

sleep on it, and just let the light of your
ember veins light awake the madness you
cannot cast away. These miseries

will find their way into their beds
and make your dissolutions their nightmares
and then sleep, sleep you will.

I'm not afraid of dying.
Rather I find it annoying.
Because I need know what civilizations will be like in thousands of years
but I have no way of knowing.

The end of existence is much like before.
The quiet, peaceful-nothingness.
We are all heading towards.

This is the reality to which I'm confined.
A consciousness limited in body and mind.

I'm living enclosed inside a place nobody knows about where a part of my soul grows in the dark and it blossoms in the cold.
Being the only soul here, it gets lonely; nobody to hold me, but if only I was more like the old me and had more of an open heart policy.
This space allows me to hide my true face; pushing away out of this place others who get too close. I have come to just embrace it.
There's a certain limit I have when it comes to outsiders being in it trying to find and get inside of my mind to get closer, unaware they're not going to win it.
It's been a minute since I've allowed it; I'm not proud of it but I can't do anything about it.
So many have tried to get me to confide in them about my spirit that's died; I thought I was hiding it but never knew it was this visible on the outside.
I wear my heart on my sleeve but my soul's in a pocket; deep inside, I zip that ***** up and locked it, threw away the key so no one can come in no matter how much they're knocking.
The only thing accompanying me is a mirror that I allow to be this near for a reason clear enough to understand if you were here.
I punched it watching the cracks spread wildly, but the fact is that simultaneously the reason for that is so it can stay here with me.
Now I'm not as lonely, have no reason to pretend or fake a feeling and even have someone to understand what I'm dealing with when I look at the falling shards of my reflections, then pick my head up to see that I finally have someone here I can see who's as broken as me.

As the world defends itself from the anxiety of death,
a wind-caressed woman waits by the water,
and signals for silence, unceremoniously.
Waiting for the blood-banks to breed ideals --
which will, inevitably, be exported --
that will turn Natives into faceless, finger-painted  
neo-orphans of the broken nuclear home;
old souls, convinced to be the youth in revolt,
and to be the scrambled egg individuals of a melting ***, that disguises uniform for diversity.

Her lavender dress dribbles the spiraling air, as the copper dust swims by her ankles, knees, and thighs.
I do not remember when she told me that everything we do and say is a defense-mechanism,
distracting us from the fact that one day we will die and be as imaginative as the roles we give ourselves,
as the people we think blend into us,
and as the gods we use as an alternative to a morphine drip.

I stood by the bad river, knowing that all of my attempts at being more than what I was,
was my grasp at an out-of-reach eternity,
and a dream of a humanity that could be affected by one person.

I do not remember when she told me,
"All of our attempts at progressing,
is our way with dealing that we will someday die
and may not have been successful at living forever."

You didn't know
that I hold
galaxies
in my head
and
oceans
in my chest.
You didn't know
that I would've
died
a thousand times
just to see you smile
for a second.
You didn't know
I would've cut the throats
of tigers
just to keep you safe.
You didn't know
I kept the darkness
hidden
so you only saw the
light.
You didn't know
I would've loved you
as much as
my wasteland of a heart
would allow.
If you had,
you never
would've let me go.