The days blur perilously close
to each other now.
The alcohol does not help;
helps other things.
Blunt force trauma has
swelled and colored
the gulf of skin beneath my eye,
hindering sight.
Disgust awaits the mirror;
a child shading in the
contusions of my face
with the wrong colors;
purples, sickly yellow.
Knowing how it should,
but doesn’t, look.

Faces of friends seem
to slip further away,
this memory failing
as cells burn and pop
atop the frying pan of chemicals
that I have become.
The drugs do not help;
help other things.
A tile floor, a dimming light.

Naked, she is a stranger,
and I am overflown
with nausea, apathy;
some thick welling of revulsion
pitted in the gut that I pray
is only toward her
This hatred does not help;
only any good for the writing,
ironic, unsure if there will
be a writer much longer,
anyway.

Another gray, black-eye sunrise,
******* and insomniac,
awake as the earth spins again onward
into the mutable mass of gas and plasma.
How many of them must there be?
The number will rise up
into the trillions, they say,
as the top continues its turn;
dizzying now and incomprehensible.
The sun bigger and bigger
slowly each time, growing
until this small marble
is overtook by some
dystopian beachballl of fusion
and fission, blistering away with
such anger; imbalance.

Hungover, contemplating ends,
I think the bullet may be alright;
regarded as painless if aimed well.
Imagining split-second blitzkriegs
of neural discomfort prior
to blackness, I dismiss the thought.
The sun is up fully now, stretching.
Red giants, they say are cooler
than their white counterparts,
but larger.

All the fights, from the bar
to the battlefield.
All the love, from the brothel
to the bedroom.
All the life, progress, movement,
everything and nothing;
muted by colliding hydrogen particles
emitting heat.
Is it so terrible to be irrelevant?

She falters
You stumble
She whispers
You rumble
Under covers they tumble
Attempting to repair love with false pretenses and broken promises

For hours, I tried to sleep.
The rain drums down on the tin roof;
the demons are knocking.
I see their tears stream down the window;
a cleverly designed artifice to distract
from their true intent.
I ignore their subtle attacks, but they always
find a way back in.
I watch their shadows drift in through
the windows;
morphing from one shape into another,
hovering around me,
their whispered breaths cloud the air –
there is barely a space unfilled by their presence.
I can’t seem to chase them away, and I’m
wrapped up into their world.
Empty, cold and alone,
my reality remains stranger than any dream.

© Sia Jane

Oh Menah
Pride of africa
Pride of the blackrace
Beautiful like d morning rose
Timid eyes like the clean morning water of "ESSURUN"
Great sense of humour
Aspiring and ambitious
Hardworking and caring
Beautiful is AFRICAN and the black race

Bring me the sit of citadel diamond
I will sit on it like a king on the throne
We crept in the sea of thoughtfulness
Forgetting that some day the sea can dry off
The sea  whistles  and reminds us to be focus
Of course focus stand for full commitment,
I will like to remind you about that.
If you don't know, it also brings orderliness
We strife to be focus because
Our usefulness is for the masses
We build our focus on the verge of death
That at some point we won't be afraid to die
Our dreams and aspirations cries out to us
Like a catholic pendulum
We promise the world to hear the bell
I already said it, in patience
My empire like a VLC player
We don't quit till we exceed the volume point.

Can't. Won't. Will not.
I see you there. My weakness.
You aren't always there. You pick
And You choose.
Heart bump. Instagram. Dread.
Same old game. Can't grow up. Can not move on. You're always there. Waiting.
Apathy. Desire. Fear. Loathing.
A cycle of reincarnation. An atheist Buddha. The same life. Feeling new by it's blistening intensity. Just raw.
Festering and sterile.
I do blame You. For everything. But I won't walk away from You. Depression is obsession.  I'm consumed by You.
Cold. Can't see. Can't think. Blood moving eerily. Playing Axis and allies. Can't speak.
You hit me the morning after. I don't like myself. I'm late for work. Again. I dissapointed my Father. Again. I Made bad decisions. Again. Even this sick soliloquy, is  no therapy for me anymore. You watch me. You'll stay for a while. Your face is painfully expressionless. Your eyes dull. You'll be back again. Like the cold winds and goosebumps. One leading to another. Fading, for only a while. If I make it this time I'll see you on the other side.
And if not, at least I'll, go in the light. Even if hell fire is all I right.
Maybe You'll be there waiting. And you won't ever go. I'd miss you. I'd miss you so.