There are days where the world makes me draw a blank, where nothing fits and all I do is think all ropes struck split-ended and torn no paths cross no links and certainly no endings. A trail begins and the hill drops down steeply low below my groans and moans of pain and distraught - I'm forced to appeal, to let them go. Jump! Jump! And I draw a blank.

Sometimes nothingness stares back at me; looming over me and my thoughts - overbearingly present consuming my mind until there's nothing left but this stark stinging sound scratching in my ear
I’m forced to itch an itch I can’t reach; unfulfilled and tense I’m annoyed and aggravated, in agony and anguish.

These days, which seem to last weeks, cut deep into the abyss of my memories;

who I was supposed to be. A dull glow of an image I traced in my mind steadily peering over my hollow body haunting all the squeaks and creaks of my joints.

I'm spooked by my naked brain bubbling pointless noise.

I lay lazily through my creepy trance as vines that held me tight debunk from my nerves. Painfully they un-tie my paralysis and I let my lungs pound the roof of my mouth with ghastly chokes of cursed air. Hours of mindless screeching.

I'm free!

My breath eases up
and my soul finally gets to explore
the deep universe I see
when closing my eyes.

A ghast,
I grasp.
A reach,
I stretch,
but cannot attain,
their lost feeling
I hold onto.

I'm dead.

A wet leaf, disregarded
from the highest branch.
Now-
on the damp pavement.

A drop,
I predicted, painfully so.
A fall,
I tried to delay, unfortunately,

I'm dead.

The world will still turn,

regardless

of if I want it to.

A spin on words,

and you might think

I'm a dead branch

fallen from a tree.

The apple tree, my dad will become.

Although not yet,

the words are stagnant

tightening around my soul

carving reality into my face.

A useless thought,

an unbearable one.

I fear I’ll rot

and dance with the maggots

until I’m soil.

One day meeting with my dad

becoming a tree myself

we’ll hold each others roots

like when we hug.

The type of warmth

I’ll always dream about

way past the inevitable

moment in time,

where my heart

and soul

will give out.

Hoarse and devil-like.
He was blue.
Charming and flew;
a shooting star,
but below earth.
Below observable boundaries.
Not real; made-up.
Ocean huge,
blue, not fire.
Burnt, patched-up
by tears flowing high
away from the stars.
The sky lit up
with solitude's abyss.
It wrapped him up
with social boundaries.

Close-winged angel.
She was velvet-red.
Hopeful and greedy;
catastrophe struck,
enveloping their home,
bounding her sight.
SHE,
VELVET RED,
full of life; un-wanting of it.
Her soft heart
grows dark.
"Look" - "She wants it".
She cried; blood - pain.
A hole she dug with society's help.
Tied her down - with social boundaries.

J'me tient la tête haute
au dessus des gnomes qui m'étrangle
ceux qui me déchire en quatre
un quart de chaque partie de ma vie
la divisions de mes toutous à mes devoirs
de mes rêves à mes obligations.
Un cadre d'illusions hypnotiques
qui change mon sens, mes vérités
une jungle bourré de fautes
, mais j'apprends.
Tu te remplis la face de tromperie
espèce de crédule, tu penses qu'à toi
t'avale plus. Tout ressort.
T'es rendu seule, au bout de ton siège
une aiguille à la gorge, mince et mortelle.
Mes gnomes, violent et tordu,
sont fait de porcelaine
ils coulent le regret
comme mes quarts, qui explode d'un grand

rien.

My eyes shot up,
a fast motion
from the sink to my face

queued laughter
                                and
                            ­            a
                                            goosebu­mp
                                                              ­      waterfall

all the way down
to my left toe
big and soft.

I washed my earthy hands
as panic spread through my limbs
a slow tune.

Glossy red shade
                                
                                 laminating my sclera.

My mind circled around answers
to what happened,
precious secrets

kept solitary - for a quiet night.

I twirl my umbrella.
Not over me, since I'm far from excited,
or happy.

I stepped out into the rain after work.

Opening it
I realized,

it had a hole,

and is now worthless,
but I would hate to let it go.

My grandmother passed it down to my mother and my mother gave it to me.

Before she passed.

A sad old lady,
stubborn and empty.

This umbrella reminds me of that.
A part of her I hated,
but can’t let go of.

She was still my mother.

And so I twirl it,
closed and hidden,
to my right.

The same side she laid on.
When Grim came near.
There, she stared at me
with her glossy blue eyes
and said her last furrow-browed “Hello”.

Believe it or not -

I gather you do.

I’m fueling, a growing fire

which burns bright
and gold.

Since my shy heart,

loves beauty

for it, is all of you.

A glowing sun,

playful and greedy,

as I.