Everything
Is
Alive


Words Of Harfouchism

the darkness comes as it goes

the dread however, seems intent on staying.

falling to my feet only ends up a ****** mess

theres no soft place to fall,

no solice to take.

...

there is only the act of hardening

and tempered steel,

though, when cold to the touch

is savagely barren

it can still in the heat of fire

take on the attributes of warmth

and melt and become something rather inept

though slightly beautiful.

...

what then, is there to do but reform our selves

and invite anguish and pain and then harden and soften again

till we find the shape of our hearts in the mould of the future

we once dreamed of

if we can still remember it.

...

and dread will be our constant companion;

the third wheel in our fortunes.

which was never handed to us in any decent form of fate,

but that in that fight of going anywhere

somewhere hidden in the violent struggle

is our often ignored love

beating its heart out for the tempo to temper

and

both beats to trigger each other in all our love states

simply to be recognised for what they are,

invincible.

After I die, I will remain-
Still on Earth,
but even more powerless than before.
And I will see those I love
fall to pieces,
powerless to help them.
I will stand by,
a ghost,
and watch the mess I left in my wake.
I will see what I love
destroyed
in the worst possible way-
From the inside out.
My Personal Hell.

Merry f*cking Christmas
And everyone's drunk.
All spirits are dim
And my heart has near sunk.

You sit softly back into the faded couch
rain spills in dark blue slate against my forearms
Pale ivory lines of my skin align tenderly with your tangled teeth
You tell me that this is how we'll end
Dim and quiet icons of our generation wrapped in grey
But we laugh it off anyway
And I sing gods and monsters into your warm neck
Humble moments of my velvet intent
I lean into you
And the rain conceals the rest