My flesh is a shell,
And I the soul that inhabits it.
Yet the soul is not attached—
It is merely enclosed within
The soft shell of flesh.
I drowse—I dip—
My head lolls in fatigue—
I bolt awake, the flesh snapping—
A moment of disconnect
As the soul still lingers
Just two inches to the left.
Woozy, disconcerting, normal
After many years.
Normal, but not admired—
Gentle heavings are not uncommon
As the soul attempts to escape
The prison walls of flesh.
Pain is felt twofold:
Once in the heart of the soul,
Once in the chest of the flesh.
Surreal, this overlay
Of soul and flesh.
But one becomes accustomed to it
After many, many years.

The child floats inside the bubble,
Calm, unconcerned, at peace with
The walls that surround her.
The bubble keeps her in;
The bubble keeps the others out;
All is well, and she is content.
She drifts alone in solitary
Freedom, a single word printed
On the curving walls:
Alone.

The child floats inside the bubble,
Panicked, terrified, banging upon
The walls that surround him.
The bubble keeps him in;
The bubble keeps the others out;
Nothing is okay, he cries to himself.
He drifts alone in solitary
Confinement, a single word branded
On the curving prison walls:
*Lonely.

If there’s a group of people,
And each one has an imaginary friend,
And you put those imaginary friends together,
What do you get?
Do you get a Super imaginary friend?
Do you get a real person?
I’d like to know.
You see, I think I’m one—
A compilation of imaginary friends.
I’m real but I’m not
There to interact with anyone.
At least, I think I’m real.
But doesn’t every imaginary friend?
Or do they know they’re imaginary?
Do these thoughts of mine
Prove my imaginary status?
I don’t think real people
Imagine they’re imaginary.
Do they?

Death, my friend, your hands are so cold.
You cup my cheek and ice ****** my teeth.
You’re so cold, Death, my friend. So cold.
Don’t you want some heat, some warmth?
Will you take some from me?—
I’ll gladly give it, you know—my warmth.
I’m not using it. But you can, if you want.
Death, my friend, you look so sad.
Your eyes are drawn, your cheekbones haggard;
The corners of your mouth are downturned.
Smile, Death, please. Smile for me.
I want to see the flicker of colour in your skin.
Will you smile genuinely for me?
I’ve seen your wan smile, you know.
That is no way to smile—monochrome
Has no right to alight on your face.
Death, my friend, you look so lonely.
You’re not alone, not forgotten.
I’m with you, I see and remember you,
I am not afraid of you. I like you.
You’re my friend, remember? Your friend.
Friends want friends to be warm,
To smile with every colour that has ever graced
A paintbrush, a canvas, a child’s dream.
Death, my friend, why are you holding me?
Is my warmth helping? Have I made you happy?
Death, my friend, your arms are so warm.
Or am I just cold in comparison?
Death, my friend, thank you for smiling so beautifully.
I’m glad you’re warm.

The wound on the beating red
Has lain bare for some time now.
The jagged edges do nothing
To stop the oozing flow of blood.
The pain’s immense—it won’t stop,
Not for all the salves in the world.
But an animal shows up,
A cat, a dog, a mouse, a snake, a turtle—
The species is irrelevant.
The animal approaches in a dream,
Looks the red flesh over,
And gently lays a paw or tail or foot over it.
The edges start to shrink,
New flesh sprouting over the bridging
The two far sides, healing has begun.
The wound will never truly heal;
A puckered pinching of the skin will remain,
But it will be in the shape
Of that paw, foot, hoof, or tail.

A fresh page, a clean start,
The past’s colors mute.
The calm before the storm,
A sense of agitation
Lingers in the stomach not
Quite yet—
But it’s coming.
It’s coming.
The new year is just another day
So why the expectancy?
It’s become an icon, a symbol,
For white, for fresh,
For a chance to start again
And look forward
Rather than behind.
Pick up the brush, the pen, the ink—
Roll out the parchment, the laptop,
The rumpled napkins in the corners—
And let the vibrancy flow and stain
And leak into every crevice of the world.

Can you hear it?
Do the strains of Earth
Reach to Heaven above?
I think you can hear it.
I want you to hear it.
I want you to hear it,
These notes entering my ears.
They remind me of you.
Can you hear it?
I’m sure you can.
You have to.
Please hear these songs.
Hear the floating,
Dancing, twirling notes
Of both joy and sorrow—
Hear the bittersweet
Tears rolling down my cheeks—
Hear them,
And remember me.

A single point on a long line
Stretching off into Eternity—
A single dot—Doesn’t seem like much.
At first.
But that one single point
Sends an impact down the line—
Left and right, the impact carries.
Flash forward, flash back—
It’s all the same.
Before and after are impacted.
Neither will ever be the same.
Some people will miss the point—
One small speck it is,
Easily overlooked by many.
But the residual energy resides
And continues travelling
For all Eternity.

Half-forms, half-thoughts,
Rolling, rolling, turning,
Swirling and meshing and churning and fusing,
A whole chaotic jumbled mess

That makes perfect sense to one.

One brave soul amidst the storm,
One strong figure against the tempest,
One resolute leader, unwavering hero,
Can understand the brew.

The others think him mad
For watching the Halfs flash by.
Him, mad? Possibly.
Be he thinks himself sane.
And who can tell him
“Sane” or not?
They see Halfs, he sees Wholes.
They see tumult, he sees languidness.
They see chaos, he sees order.
They see a storm, he sees peace.
So he smiles to himself as they quake;
They do not understand the humour.
The Wholes shared something amusing
With their steadfast Captain,
But the others see Halfs, so the humour was lost.
This is all the more amusing,
And so this sane madman
Laughs and laughs and laughs.

There’s a difference
Between drowning
And sinking.
Both refer to
Being immersed in
A body of liquid.
But drowning
Means you’re rejected.
Drowning
Means you and the liquid
Are at odds—
You’re in the liquid
But you’re not of the liquid;
You are not one
With the liquid.
You cannot breathe,
You cannot hear anything
But your own screams
And your own terror,
You cannot see anything
Other than darkness.

But sinking is different.
Sinking
Means you’re accepted.
Sinking
Means you and the liquid
Have come to an agreement—
You’re in the liquid
And you’re of the liquid;
You are one
With the liquid.
You can breathe,
You can hear everything
Along with soulbeats
And the elusive love,
You can see everything
Cloaked in majestic light.

Thus is the difference
Between drowning
And sinking.
There is death in drowning
But life in sinking.
I’d rather sink.
Which you do prefer?

For a moment,
I am changed.
For a moment,
I cease to have an early body.
For a moment,
I melt away.
For a moment,
I am no longer myself.
For a moment,
I am Love itself.
For an instance,
My arms are no longer arms
But are tendrils.
For an instance,
My embrace is not physical
But emotional.
For an instance,
I turn into Love
And wrap the other
In a penetrating warmth
That I pray reaches
The beating heart within.

I am both the puppet and the puppet master.
I dance to the will of others while subtly controlling them.
I sometimes make myself dance,
The two halves of me controlling and obedient simultaneously.
The shadow that lurks in my shadow—
I am that, too, seeping and oozing over the ground.
The forces in my heart are battling for control—
The shadow and the light are battling.
My heart remains the ****** battlefield,
Littered with dead dreams and riddled with holes.
And all the while the puppet jerks,
Obeying the tug of strings,
And all the while the puppet masker jerks,
Controlling the mass of strings.

Free-floating, gliding around,
No up, no down, no left or right.
A big jumbled mess
That makes perfect sense.
Rocketing at high velocity,
Colliding and sending sparks
Flying in all directions.
The sparks float aimlessly
As the objects that created them.
They leave a sparkling trail
Of stars in their wake.
Trace it back to the origin.
Recreate the collision.
Witness for yourself
The sparks as they fly.
Maybe one day you, too,
Can be part
Of that glorious bang.