Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
The soft whirling hum of a fan works its way from one corner of the room to the next. I succumb, defeated, deflated, shoulders slouched over, to passing wafts of air that briefly foam over the drooped skin of my emotionless face. Its touch invigorates the senses, momentarily reminding me to take in a breath of the foul and arid air that lingers lifelessly in this second story bedroom. As a sliver of light makes its way slowly up my chest and falls back to its original place, a muffled sound of pain boils over slowly softly searing through my torpid ears. Meanwhile, transparent tendrilous hands of memories begin to curl through my mind appearing and quickly vanishing like steam before I can grasp the true gravity of their presence.
        It must be ninety seven degrees in here. A drop falls from my face onto the back of my clenched hand and for a moment the fan is at it again pulling my head with it from side to side. Oscillating, it dictates a hypnotic lullaby, an ***** riddled rhythm sanding away at my rigid thoughts. Another drop falls toward my wrists driving me away from the blissful moment. Then losing its grip a metallic clang reverberates throughout the room as the object leaves my hand and finds the old wooden floor. Looking back at my hand I see where the two drops had fallen, now glistening in the dimly lit room. Were those tears? When I direct my sight down to meet with whatever had fallen a rush of blinding pain jaggedly inhibits my vision with a flaming wall of white instinctively calling my eyelashes into the backs of my eyelids painfully. My voice cracks and I hear the same singe of grief from earlier reflect ballistically throughout the room and into the hallway where ghosts gargle back an echo of my anguished voice. Am I hurt?
        Afraid now of what I may have done,I cautiously work my foot away from the chair and navigate it across the floor until it hits the handle of something sending it spinning around. Reaching down, the once trance like hum of the fan falls deaf and gives way to a steady beat of drips that are accompanied by an ever increasing tightening of my chest. When I reunite with the object I had dropped the image of blood and steel mesh a murderous hue onto my fingers as I fumble to recover it. Realizing what has happened my mind fizzles and pops with panic and I begin to beg for respite, for a chance to revisit the moment before I had slit open both wrists. Cold anguish flushes the heat from the room and out into the hall as the dam of reality breaks and in with it a torrent of emotions and images of the blood peppered hardwood floor that now seeps dauntingly with the new life it is drinking. In desperation my eyes fire off in every direction, finding an open journal perched on a coffee table. The pages are in a fretful fury revealing pages dotted with smudges and smears of bloodied ink and teary paragraphs. Confused, I begin to search the room again and there beneath the window blinds lies the woman I have loved for eleven years lifeless in a pool of blood. Lorraine.
        My head lashes violently backward as if to howl toward the moon of time in an attempt to beckon the falling grains of sand to return to me what had once been mine. A sobering clarity strikes me and I begin to recall the events that led up to this moment. Beginning with a distressed phone call from Lorraine. I came,I told you I would come. And then I recall the strange feeling that scaled through my body slithering down my arm until it coiled its nervous grip around my fingertips as they bit into the **** of our bedroom door. As it creaked open, I had thought, I'm here baby, but you were already gone. Lorraine. It took what felt like hours to reach the part of the journal where you had confessed your infidelity that resulted from the tangles of promises I never kept, from the things I hadn't done, and should have said. Oh Lorraine why didn't you tell me. I would have changed, would have done anything for you. I'm so sorry,I forgot, I hadn't noticed. After seven years I thought you knew, but I will show you now. I will give you my life as you had given yours. I would have forgiven you ******, they were only kisses that meant nothing. Lorraine...and then nothingness.
        A grey shadow in a once enraged Congo of colors and emotions in an otherwise empty room now fill my eyes until I'm choking on its thick smoke and drowning in tears. When one of those tears fall, this time on my bloodied wrists I'm called back to the present moment. Once more the fan catches my sight directing me toward your lifeless body, and then a warm hand from the deepest recesses of my mind begins to cradle my shoulder. Lorraine. My eyes flutter open and find you placing a kiss on my forehead as you say something sweetly into the soft embrace of night. The scent of your hair bristles around my cheek and ears while you caress the short hairs along the ridges of my neck. All I can manage in the moment is to pull you in closer as I whisper "I'm sorry Lorraine. I love you. I can show you." A tear catches a lock of your hair as you kiss my lips and with your love I am drawn back into our bed and out away into sleep.
I'm interested in knowing what you readers believe happens in the end. Is he dreaming and alive, is he already dead, or is he dying? I've heard some interesting theories from friends and family but I would also value your opinions as well, and with them, in the future be able to write short stories like this that have even better ambiguous endings.
Apr 2013 · 2.8k
Shipwrecked Fool
I am angry, but am not sure if I have a right to be. Between all or rather among all the other emotions I am feeling it is hard to discern and clarify the balance and reasons for my anger. Naturally I want what is best for you, that in itself is a conundrum. Is having what you want best? Or do I actually believe that what I have to offer can ultimately elate you to a higher level of happiness than that of your current situation? Another question comes to light now and that is, is what you currently want what you actually want, or is it merely that it was something which at first appeared to be and has over time slowly dissolved into something far less, into something you thought you had wanted but now see that in it's current form, really is not?
        Suppose one of these speculations takes a solid form and settles as the true idea, then in what way could any of this upset me enough to reveal itself as anger in my mind? Primarily, it would seem my own jealousy or want of you could be a proprietary perpetrator in this matter, but I am sure that the true identity of this perplexed feeling runs much wilder and entangled with a slue of uprooted inner conflicts. So then, what are they? As I reflect on the many faces of this anger, the feeling of pain surfaces, but not the kind you feel for yourself, rather it's more of the selfless type. I am, by all means, a bystander on looking the trials and troubles that lay ridden in your path. I see you struggle to hold on and in turn attempt to stay as composed as a rigid coastline baring the constant battery of each careless and possibly calculated undulation of every crashing wave which from where I stand rises more often than not than the natural course of a waxing and waning tide. And it's as if from a distance I can see and hear bits and pieces of you crumble and crash, slowly receding into the horizon with each unrelenting wave.      
        At times finding myself diving into the chaotic and churning crush of waves to gather and salvage whatever I can mange to and still keep myself afloat so that when the tides recede I, with safe passage, climb ashore to safely return to you whatever it is I managed to cradle from the depths. As I take those sandy steps I now understand the reason for my anger, if but only for a portion of it. Watching as I do from my ship, it hurts to see the waves crash, to see something so paramount in beauty, in life be so carelessly attended to. Yet, the fault is not but of one, but of two. It can hardly be helped, you are who you are, and the beauty in you is as with most, your flaw. The core of you, revealed more and more with each crashing wave, smells damp and sweet of hope. Such a hopeful being, that even after the tempest has risen a tsunami to thunder coldly on your very shores, you merely wince and hope that just maybe a windless day will break through to passing clouds to ease each tide to a lapping kiss upon your now jagged shores that in time, piece by piece, return to you what is rightfully yours.
        Throughout all this though I bare a different caliber of weather, one which strikes at my splintered ship with jagged volts of lightening, searing all aboard until your gentle rain turns its pulsing red embers into a faded glow slowly giving way to smoke and ashes. I watch from this distance angry at everything on this side of the world. Anger towards the carelessness, towards the helplessness, at the one flaw that you and I share, at knowing my selfishness in it all, toward the thought of walking on your shores but only quietly as not to summon another unwelcome tide, and finally and most perplexing of all...for being angry at all. It's what upsets me the most, that I'm even angry. Yet, I am as helpless against it as we are with the sunset of hope we both hold so close to sight and mind, for you, hope of a sleeping tempest and in return a more attentive life by the ocean, and for me, the hope of one day being able to cast my anchor down into the depths so that I may enjoy the warmth of your sand, cool nights against your moonlit caves heated by the warmth of your heart, your hope, and to above all tenderly enjoy and return to your ever-reaching shores of love all that it gives and deserves.
        But at times I see that this endless commotion disorients even the strongest of shores and that in it all , there is no surprise that a mere ship in an open sea can seem to be anything more than a flick of candlelight alongside the heat of a chaotic wild fire. Despite this pulsing surge of discouragement,I angrily, hopefully, caringly, and thoughtfully will continue to cast my net to show you that though right now I quietly wisp each flickering dance of summer light, that I too am relentless in my will, but for a different reason. I see now, that my anger is acceptable because above all else,I am your friend and wish for you only the best, for what would make you happiest. And that despite my wants, yours will always come first, whatever they be or you may think they be. My ship will sail alongside you no matter your choice, and if ever the day comes when I walk up on your shores with candle in hand, you need but kiss the tender tendrilous flame I carry to awaken its unconditional and fervent inferno that lies patiently inside, waiting.
Angrily, your loving friend
Social Network, droll and at times informative: keeping me in tune with out of tune people. Except, this time you did something different. This time you took a life from my web of friends a trend of late: One loss to cancer, one to a fatal accident, another to pneumonia, and the rest deceased from overdoses. It’s been so many that the track marks are beginning to show across my veiny webs, long black thin trails leading to round puncture wounds where the touch of cold steel kissed your skin, stroked your hair back, and slowly laid you to bed exactly where you sat. This network doesn't show me the nights you cry curled in the corner, it doesn't reveal the moment when the ocean came crashing into the Steel Pier you are, tearing away lumps of mangled frame work from beneath, soaking brine and rattling support beams that you depend on. A smile instead manages to froth along the pages scrolled like white curled lapping shorelines pushing foam further up the sandy coast with each eroding wave.  Now I stand in the wave of your wake; among seagulls flapping their dense thoughts and cretinous like minds and memories each vouching for the validity of their affirmations about the soul whose body is now center stage like a porcelain doll on a shelf to be displayed and examined exposed to all with each and every flaw highlighted so that they can have a chance at reciting her history, origins, funny moments, and fatal mistakes. The difference here is that there is no makers mark; there is no branded tag, no little black book of logs from which we can pull and decipher or recall every waking moment of your life. The reality is that for those of us who lost touch with you all that we know now is only history or what we thought we knew. It’s such *******, I’m not a historian, I really was your friend back then, but because of that I don’t remember ****, just the frame of the picture within, the shell of who you were, of what we did. I can tell you it was fun: the Bacardi filled Gatorade bottles, the sound of your laughter diluted in an intoxicating environment of rollerblades on the rink-floor, contemporary music and house beats reverberating against the circling congregation of equally happy and inebriated teenage youths. But how could I ever describe you today, who you were when you passed. That is not something I can claim as some of these birds squawk. Your social posts were a false facade. Obviously there was something I missed, what was it. Was it so subtle? So much like a light breeze fluttering at the thin frayed thread of a seam that I could have seen but didn't care enough to realize it was there. Were you just a tumbling leaf among a forest of fresh autumn arrivals lost in the vastness, one among millions? It pains me to admit that as much as I would have liked to have been a friend to you during your dark times, I too was in a dark place of my own and in turn was deaf and blind to the billowing smoke signals that tried to underline and emphasize the sorry plights of others. I wish you could have told your story yourself, could have left a memoir of the ****** up thoughts that zipped through behind your eyes while you filtered the layers of **** served in white paper bags that this world seems to dish up like a fast food chain of heartbreak and deep ruts, while every so often rewarding us with a mistakenly placed toy or salad to “make up” for the rest of the empty calories served. I've tried so long to be an optimist, to look at the glass half full, but that glass is shattered on the floor right now, I broke it. My life hasn't been easy, not many people’s lives are and that’s life, I understand that much. If it isn't raining it’s snowing, if it isn't snowing it’s hailing, and if there isn't any precipitation it’s either hot or cold as hell and you have to fight through it to make it to the next day. I’m taking the shoes I wear now off so I can step on that pile of excrement they call a glass half full, half empty. Give me the pain, it hurts and the tears burn as they roll down my cheeks while I stare at this half a cent card with your face on it and some mass produced poem on the back listening to the ******* eulogy mutterings of everyone around me, but I want that. I would take this shuttering pain, this volcano of discharged emotions erupting from the shaking core of my body. I would take it any day over the numbness that is ******. Wasn't your child a life raft? Wasn't he the duck it or **** it of your life? Had you not a fiancé to whom which you could have rested your beaten structure on? Did you not have an array of support, a field of pile driven beams to share the weight in it all? Or was it a mistake? Was it a fault of somebody else that provided you with the birthday batch of ******? When you blew out the candles and smiled behind the thin line of adumbrating smoke that sketched out the soul behind your eyes did you think to yourself, today will be the celebration and cessation of my birthday; a bitter sweet memory for all who know me: on this day she was both born and deceased. Today she began to live and learned of death. I will never have the answers for the many who continue to fade into the credits of their dismal painful lives, but I will never stop trying to understand and I will never learn to forget or let go. This blood in my veins detest the cold steel rush that so many of you have tasted, that so many of you ran to when no one was listening, when no one was looking, when no one could comprehend you anymore and the only languages you spoke were procured from endless nights on the cushioned wooden floor as you drifted off among the silver linen clouds, as you left this body on earth and spoke with angels perched over the smoke stack that overlooked the back-lit-keyboard of lights that was your city, your town, your home while the strand of rubber slowly fell from your arm. We couldn't hear you, and those **** angels seem to weave such a pretty tale sometimes when you forget that you are speaking to your own deceitful mind. I will learn that language, I will look for those signs, I will place a candle on the sill beckoning every friend of mine to come and share with me in person. Let me reach into that white bag and see what is inside, I’ll eat whatever you pull out whether they are empty calories or not, preservative filled fries cold or hot. You are my friends and Social Networks are a lie, just a wall to hide behind, an occasionally droll and informative medium, until you die and then there is nothing left to pretend to say or be.
Dear you, From me: In case we should ever meet.

        You have lived in my mind now for almost half my life. When we first met I hardly knew myself, but still through my thoughts you crept; filling up the empty crevices, at times pinching and tugging on nerves and synaptic connections till I fell to my knees and wept. You didn't know then, but you also helped me collect inspiration and hope. Never mind the loneliness you caused inside and the occasional neglect. You got to know me in ways that still don't make any sense. Like, how on earth could you ever know that the thought of ever losing you made my heart full of dread and tense.
        You moved me in ways that I will not soon forget. Like that time my thoughts grew dark and grim: when I thought all hope was lost, was lost in life without any sense of how to cope, and then there you were perched upon a patch of white warm sand, directions in hand: A beacon sword of diamond light parrying the vast darkness of the open seas. Still though, it was just a hand. Back then you seemed so far away and hidden above sight that even through my periscope I could not make out your face on land.
        I do admit, I was an ungrateful man. I never truly thanked you for what you had done, in fact, all I recall ever doing is scolding you for the tangle of webs I had spun: always questioning why things were so bad and what I had done to deserve it. You though, you never lost faith, you never once asked to see my face. You just were. You were there on sleepless nights to step out from the recesses of my mind to run your fingers through waves of my disconsolate curly hair. Thank you for that, thank you for teaching me about compassion and humility, about honor and commitment, for showing me how to give hope and find strength. Thank you for not taking it easy on me. I was mad at you then for the swells of tears that made my pillow colder at night, for that sense of falling, for that black-hole you put in the pit of my abdomen after telling me you'd be with someone else tonight. For taking control over my body and mind and willing it to do things I had never done before in my life.
        It's still strange for me to think of how someone I had never met could affect so much change in me. Truthfully, you may be responsible for every ounce of good in me, but I also credit you with being the cause for some of the bad as well. Now that I know you better than before, I am comfortable with being honest in telling you what and who you are to me, what you've meant all this time, what you've been. You are the double edged sword that protects and defends me: A will and testament of steel forged in fire and ice, hardened and tempered through the passage of time. With a razor's edge, hand in hand, both you and I conquer all enemies, but when either of us grow tired or weak it is our blood that is drawn out of fear or jealousy.
       I laugh now because even when you cut me deep you always find a way back inside, always know a remedy. You have a resolve no one can resist. I guess that is why it's always you that I miss, always your face I lose but then find in mirrors, in strangers, in grocery lines.  It must also be the reason for your commitment to infidelity, and why everyone who knows you must have you. It gives light to the nights you slip out from beneath my covers to lay with as many others as you can. Somehow though, you always find a way to make your seductive conquest be okay; it is okay and I don't mind it. All I ask is that you come to visit more often and stay a little longer. I'd be lying if I said that I'm okay without you, but you have taught me patience if anything and gratitude, and I cherish every moment we spend together and am becoming more understanding when I see you with someone else. All I ask is that you don't rub it in my face, and now since I've seen yours you seem to want to change it every time you come back. Can you stop that? Can you live by me with just one set of eyes? It would mean so much to me if from now on the pale rosy cheeks I kiss belong to the same visage. Whether you do or not though, you continue to be the first and last greatest thing that has ever happened to me. So, just in case we should never meet , or till that day we both patiently seek, for you I write this to read and to hold while I lie asleep.

Sincerely From Me To You,
My Sweet Mystique
Jan 2013 · 1.1k
Anything You Say
Dim the lights
Now light a candle
Walk slowly
The perfect angle
Come close now
Stop and bite your lip
Take your hand
Trace lines by your hip
Yes that's it
In by your navel
Further down
Beneath see-through lace
Touch the crown
Quicken up the pace
Excitement
Come here let me taste
Near the bed
Blankets pushed aside
Sit on top
Put your lips on mine
Push me down
Not yet, take your time
Hands in hair
Love bites on the neck
A whisper
Baby, kiss my back
Flushed cheeks
No moment wasted
Hands grip tight
A thrill untasted
Pull them down
Tell me what to do
Lay back there
So I can taste you
Do not rush
Face pressed against thigh
Go real slow
I want you inside
Hearts beat fast
Quicker, almost wet
Got it right
The first of many sets
Kiss my lips
Anything you say
Can and will
Be used in foreplay
I cut this one short not knowing how much further to take the description of the act unfolding. Well I knew how far I wanted to take it, but wasn't sure if the audience (you) would want it as well.
Jan 2013 · 2.2k
Curbside Pride
There is this idea, this feeling you say:
A revelation of profound compassion
Riddled with crippling paramount tribulation
Dribbling with drops of pontification.
Thoughtfully and yet aimlessly kicking
Unctuously vacuous presumptions. Promising,
Eventually, to unveil brick by brick
This facade someday and assure me
The imprisoning edifice, with which you keep
Under lock and key, will be effaced
And naked, soon, someday in front of me.
Yet, here another day passes.
From curbside to manhole, up sidewalks and across gravel grit.
Then a squib toward onlookers window shopping
Glaring down at me as both they and you listen
To my dissonant and hollow caterwaul.
CLING, CLANG, BANG! Look at me I'm just a can!
Crumpled and malleable, a thin sheet of five cent aluminum;
Recyclable, reusable, just a means to a mans end.
Ah! But I am not what you think I am:
Within, a bountiful boisterous bloom, unravels
The arid breath of lies and procrastination you exhume.
Your insipid words fall vapidly in my mind like corroded rust
Gently drifting onto a lapping lake.
They are an erroneous ear infection boring my wits
And dulling my thoughts, a waste of time.
All of it bottled, canned, and manufactured
From within your ******* emporium.
Keep your bricks and mortar, think they retain your unctuous pride
While this time, for once, I kick the can curbside.
Jan 2013 · 716
Fallen Angel
Fallen angel, go back whence ye came!
You say we're alike, but I'm not the same.
You move in darkness, while I move in light.
You say to give up, but I choose to fight.

***** angel with your wings on the floor,
You should have told me just what lie in store.
I should have known it from that gleam in your eye.
That one day you'd spread your wings and off you would fly.

Wounded angel where did we fall off track?
The pain you showed me, I gave you right back.
Far from forgiveness and further from grace
Yet, I still feel when I see tears on your face.

Broken angel, surrounded by shame.
You couldn't play the rules in this lover's game.
Now we aren't lovers, we're not even friends.
And I won't be around to fix your wings again!

Lonely angel, I bid thee goodbye.
I can't just watch you as you curl up and die.
I tried to love you, but you left me no way.
So now I leave because there's no more to say.
Jan 2013 · 563
Midnight Kisses
If I had a chance to see your face, would you disappear without a trace
and turn around and walk away and forget the day we met.
Or would I hold your hand and kiss your lips, would we sit and watch as the sun sets,
and keep you as a memory and live with no regrets.

So if you had a chance to push rewind, would you swear to keep me on your mind
or would you change the course of nights long past, those wishes and midnight kisses.

If you want to be with me tonight, just reach out like the morning light.
And wake me up from this nightmare, so we can live that dream again.

I'm afraid that if I leave you now, then we'll never know how this works out.
And if the sun should rise before this dream ends, we'll never get this chance again.

For midnight kisses.....
Jan 2013 · 647
Saving Grace
I wake up in the morning
smoke a cigarette
got a ton of stuff to do
and I'm not even out of bed yet

I make my breakfast, have some tea, brush my teeth and take out the trash
put my clothes on, start the car, hook my seat belt and step on the gas

I need a force of inspiration
This life is not a free vacation
On and on till the sweat pours down my face
Just tell me, what's my saving grace?

Every day's the same
and still I hope for more
my life feels pretty plain
and every day is a chore

I go through the motions, work my job, pay my taxes and also the rent.
Still I wonder, 'cause my life is so empty, misfortunes and time misspent.

I believe I'm havin' a reaction
now all I want is satisfaction
I've left the whole of the human race.
I'll find my path to saving grace!

I sleep right through the mornin'
lay in bed till noon
I'm in and out of snorin'
soon I'll get out of my room

I step in the shower, take my time, I say **** it and don't even shave.
Smoke a fat one, eat some food, drink some tea and then watch some TV.

Still I don't feel no satisfaction.
What do I lack to make this happen?
Is the answer staring in my face?
What is the patch to saving grace?

Well I met a girl this morning.
She said, "My name is Rose..."
My heart beat in my chest,
and my mind froze.

She just smiled, took my hand, took a pen and wrote her number down.
She winked then, walked away and said, "Call and I'll see you around!"

Now I just feel anticipation!
Could she be the key to my salvation?
Time has come and time I shall not waste.
I've found my path to saving grace.

Path to saving grace, path to saving grace!
Jan 2013 · 1.1k
Shooting Star
I stand beneath a midnight sky
I see a shooting star.
I close my eyes and make a wish,
and send myself so far away.

Thinking of what once had been,
the who and where and when.
The only one beside me still,
is my shadow in the end.

The man I see before me
is one that I don't know.
But I've learned to fake that smile.
And in the end I just go...

far away, so very far away
not sure where I'm going,
but I'd like somewhere to stay.

a place that I can call my own
something for which to care
anything to remind me
that I am really there

so shooting star please take my wish
hear my thoughts and grant me this
make a whole man out of me
and clear the clouds so I can see

so far away, and to a bed where i can lay
so far away, so very far away
We burn together, but with separate hues
Our flames flick and dance around the wick
Tips touch and mingle
And on occasion consume,
This wax that binds me,
That keeps me here, away from you.
The tears of knowledge weep thick and slow
From a time when what once thought was true,
Now is not.
Yet, your light enthralls me
It keeps me near.
A dragonfly glimmer, a shimmering morning dew.
Here we learn together, fervent flame ensue
Distant and close, not wicks but curtains
That can't be tamed;
Two bonfires in the night, birthing strifeful embers
Striking without cause or claim
Inflame all that behold us for a love unchained.
Your shared endeavors are not mine to keep
For elsewhere two little torches,
Kindred lanterns in which you keep a light
So bright, yet from me so far and dim
That to behold them myself would be a match
At the base of a tree.
But still for you that fire burns,
With it billows of smoke carve curvatures
Over mountains, which to me unseen,
Smoldering luster, an unwelcome glean.
Then the time comes, and with the soft spoken smoke
you whisper of a desired hue,
which you wish to have bound wick and wax
A dream within which she is there
and I
Outside of you.
Jan 2013 · 689
Untitled
The Day begins
and I knowingly inject myself with a toxic cocktail-mix:
Blended with all the contemporary indulgences
that someone would need to ruin a body,
to taint a soul
This fluid enclosed by the plastic syringe is a pestiferous toxin
That rushes against
The fleshy
Walls
of my deepest skins and inner thoughts

One purge, one puncture,
and the blood begins to undulate.
One pull, one hit,
And I will rupture into another state

I am the victim of self inflicted flagellation:
the absorption of excessive inappropriate
knowledge and thrills
That slowly kills me
Like a tragic descent from widowed dreams
procured by crops of pills
Hopes of becoming a Don Juan or
Moral Clergy Man
are dreams now built on top of sand.
And with these hands I raze,
what could have been a faithful devout
of Christian descent.

One purge, one puncture,
and the blood begins to inflame,
One pull, one hit,
And I will rapture once again
Jan 2013 · 652
Conversation With a Tree
He’s walking towards the drawn out breeze
of a mid summer week
His legs tell him to take a seat
underneath a green tree top canopy
And as he slowly rests his knees
he hears a voice spoken from the leaves
They ask him who he is
and why he lies there
like a desiccated fallen leaf

These aren't the days of the broken hearted
These aren't the whispers of our dearly departed
This is a time for self-reflection
a hard long look of a souls intentions

Like a soul searching journey
embarking on the hearts of the lonely
The Limelight sun takes a break
from its day, and as the moon comes out
it begins to say; brighten up boy
you’re young and full of hope
Don’t hang yourself up
by the rope, it’s a fools world
when you forget to reach for the stars,
when your eyes close for a moments night
and you lose your will to fight
Jan 2013 · 682
Move On
Your ears dance with fire as the rain falls from your lips
Your eyes are as dark now like the roads from your trips
You haven’t got a chance now, to make it through all of this
So just give up all your hopes before we all take to the mist

You got to move on, See yourself through this day
You got to move on, So you aren't the one to blame

Clutters of cold nights come, like the days before you wake
You sleep next to no one, but yet you see that it’s no mistake
It’s like a frigid cold summer, that wipes the smile from your face
You try to look forward, but you see that there is no escape

You got to move on, and see yourself through this day
You got to move on, so you aren't the one to blame

Every Days awakening, brings forward another pain
So you hide beneath your coverings, so that your dreams will never break
But as the days grow longer, you find there is no other way,
But to get up off your *** and go, and forget the days complaints

You got to move on, and see yourself through this day
You got to move on, so you aren't the one to blame

Fear is like a thunder, it’ll shake the ground beneath your feet
And if the storm ***** you under, then hold your ground and reach for me
Because I am like no other, I can teach you love can teach you peace
I am what you hope for, when the waters below reach your teeth

You got to move on, and see yourself through this day
You got to move on, so you aren't the one to blame
I sometimes wonder how a home can at one moment feel like one and then at the next be completely devoid and decrepit of any homeliness. Is it the emptiness within myself that does this or is it simply just a broken home?
      The window beside me provides my eyes with a somewhat bittersweet beauty that in many ways, reflects what I feel inside: the trees are traced with white linens and shades of red-browns and greens, they seem to mingle well with the thin layers of snow that cover their branches.
       This window, this scenery is my only solace now; my one and only confidant. No one else seems to be around, it’s just me and the few flurries that linger in it’s transparent frame. To the touch, the window is cold, much like the way I feel, with the exception of my hunger. Though, my hunger, a physical matter, a need, I find it’s insatiable appetite extend out to regions far removed from food or water, it begs for mercy, for company, for a quality of care that only a mother or lover could provide, but my life has been bare of all these things just as the trees outside are now without compassion.
      A new beginning is coming and I am leaving what I know behind in hope to find something other than the fruitless views of my second-story solitary. I've heard from writers and actors alike that some people are meant to just live their lives riverside with just their thoughts and land to look after, and that some are meant to be artists…there are others who hear music all their lives and live by it, I on the other hand am one of those people who pray they have the strength to start all over again.
      It’s hard to accept that all I've ever done has not and will not come back around to serve me, if anything at all, my actions have been degenerative. I've seen my life go from light to pitch black darkness. I've walked along righteous paths before and without ever really understanding what kind of mistake I’d be making, have walked right off into the wild brush with no sense of where I was going or how I was getting there. My needs then were simple and selfish. For years drugs, *****, "good times" and women, bars and nightclubs all became more of concern than they should have been; they ****** the life right out of me and to this day those mistakes trail behind me. Even as I look into the mirror they work themselves into my frame of mind as I see my own two eyes glaring back not truly understanding what is standing before it.
     It is a sad and cold story just like this window frame and the frozen rain behind its seemingly placid transparency. Soon though, spring will present a fortuitous rebirth and maybe then, just maybe the view from this window will be more vibrant, fervent, and abounding with both warmth and life.
The night was comfortable,
branches lightly choreographed a dramatic reaction
to the conversation beneath…
spoken words breach the midnight hour by 2,
and words are in place of sleep.
They speak,
but still pretend to have something worth to keep
In silence now, no reaction.
Walls and thoughts collide
and they see the infraction.
In a quick succession of contact,
blood boils
intuition becomes submissive.
With the steam of these midnight hours
rises away
the taboos of love and loyalty,
as intoxication devours
any human decency.
Breathing softly now;
with eyes that berate the truth
hiding behind the midnight-hour lies,
they instigate innocent massage wars
desperately wanting
neither knowing
how they plunge underneath
these unbreakable ties.
Now speechless
they grasp one another
speaking devilishly with eyes
and even louder
with the toils of their hands.
Why do you run from surreptitious lies
and hide behind your eyes?
Say this is how you feel for one thing
then when it’s around
wear a disguise?
Helpless you act
toward desires that you conspire to
You lit the match
and now you must put out the fire.
Jan 2013 · 1.3k
Crimson Waltz
I light a cigarette
and take a seat onto a damp lawn chair;
the smoke rises and billows
against the crimson colored shadows
like milk in water
and I watch as it goes up to the sky,
over my house where it leaves me to stare.
My mind is clear, eyes wide open,
ears dilate as cool droplets of water trickle down
with pitter patters through the leafy green stairs.
Some even skip from step to leaf top
as if to jump in a quick hurry toward its destination;
others fall in groups behind me
and morph into four legged creatures
that scatter across the moist ruffles
of old and weathered leaves.
Still, my focus is above.
This silent noise abounds from all directions:
a chirped song of a baby bird to my right,
the concerto soloist of a cricket in hiding below,
the bell whistle croak of a frog somewhere near by.
If my senses were a cup it would surely be full now:
Musky odors from a previous storm
that lie softly on the rich brownish-red soil
would rise like steam from its glass rim.
Inside, shavings of silver would gleam like diamonds in light,
and a cotton soft red wine would fill it
like the night does the sky.
And now as I sip from this natural perfection
I am reminded of your lips sweet interjection.
And as softly as the smoke had risen
toward the shadows of red light,
a kiss was lit and we both began to dance;
around your mouth mine had began to waltz,
slowly to and fro on tip toes being careful not to fall,
but you held me close and grasped me tight
like the red sky does the stars,
and like it and the wine that now fills my cup,
with you in that moment I was awe struck.
Jan 2013 · 1.9k
Madly
Madly-
I am missing you:
As surely as the meadow covets the soft embrace
of morning dew;
as sure as the sky slowly awakens its canvas
to the suns soft stroke of salmon pinks
and crimson reds, light magenta's, oranges,
amber's, and pale silk Persian blues.
In these moments of absence, I am,
in more than one way,
completely enraptured by the thought of you.
Your loveliness, your smile, your kiss,
your magnificently adorned brown bluish green speckled eyes,
undulate in my thoughts brightly like moonlit folds
of surf crashing into the core of me:
slowly soaking through the sandy shores
of my equally undulant, brisk, and fluttering heart.
Then, as an off shore breeze crosses tenderly about
my waist and fingertips, seductively enveloping me,
I am reminded of how closely we laid:
Tangled beneath our blanket of fervor,
side by side, with a mutual breath of passion
as excitement cascaded through our paralleled sensoriums
and quickly translated into a fiery touch of the lips,
as a fervid scratch of the hips,
and finally into a shared exhale of relief
as if to whisper to one another “come closer, be mine.”
Still, even as these grains of memories feather effortlessly
down into my thoughts like the sands of an endless hourglass
encased with the echo of your inviting voice
enchanting me with sweet nothings,
I am left with a yearning for your physical presence.
I want you here.
Time inches along and as I slowly lie my head down to sleep,
hands clasped shut between pillow and ear,
I am, in my thoughts again, reminded of your ubiquity,
of your enamoring effect on me,
of how no matter the distance nor the time between,
baby you are here, captivating my thoughts
-madly.

— The End —