I cave in to
spelunking away in the dark
I dive under the tall waves to find the bottom
and let  the rollers pass
build a refuge of sticks and grass
so far from humanity reality contact
of anyone forcing me to see
anything but my make believe
world  its fantasia
ostrich like creatures that inhabit me
a mile of mole hills make for a way out
an escape in case the world crashes around my
veil of saran wrap coverings yellowed
translucent cataracts and vein popping
retinas.

Falling leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain where
lies the lost loved one it grieves;;

Time and wind tug on the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
no one comes visit but weather and me
and the dead lying under the trees

have stories nobody can read.

The bells tolled in silent air, no mummers
Where uttered in haste as white cloth over
Black draped upon their figures.

On the desecrated reminisce of ash petals
That grow in this place each is picked with
Elegance so not to fracture there fragility.

A new one Is found to replace those that
Unveiled their voices on solemn oaths to words
Never to be uttered, they surrendered it t air.

Voices of blood echoed on the floor, a chastity
Forsaken and white cloth drank upon the wine
Till it had its fill, then voiced its intent in puddles.

The shaded leaf was gently dissected between fingers
And where lips blessed word, the ash sealed them with
The twine of dead embers, and they screamed silently.

Silken coverings where bestowed on the vacant realms
Of purities, in the convent of silence where the dead
Don't speak and muteness is a sound only heard.

My dad lost his dad feels like i am loosing him to,
All this fighting and no cash have me distracted on who is who.
I lay in a house with my  best friend
Are you depressed ? Or am I just pressuring you?
Your almost 17 and I'm about to be 22
Man I know age isn't nothing but a number but your ego tells off on you.
So I back up for a couple of weeks or two, waiting but learning I can't keep waiting for you.
I'm sorry for everybody I have let down.
These covers go over my head as I never felt so useless as my thoughts hit the ground.
My heart is the only thing that looks up..
Oh God if you can create something out of these ashes and this man of dust.

Can you always be that someone that thing .."you" that I cannot.

Narcolepsy* hard and heavy watch me fall asleep
            Lulled to bed in a cunning thread of the tangled web we weave
    I dream in pristine colors, windows of my mind anew
No fingerprints or ***** looks or evidence of you

         I find comfort in forever wherever it may be
        I may have left my home but it will always stay with me
                 The smell of all the smoke with the sound of all the rain
   On constant playback every second deep within my brain

        I found that time is all that matters and everything else faded
        I spent years and years learning how to forget everything I hated
    I've only gotten older and have nothing left to show
              Except a ringing alarm clock and blood on my pillow

     Narcolepsy** hard and heavy watch me as I sleep
     Another pill, another high, another date to keep
      If I shall die before I wake, I hope that I'm with you
    Then it won't matter where I go, cause you will see me through

Some say I reflect only shadows
only darkness
only fear
am I to be negated for this
perhaps
accurate observation?
did Poe write of whimsical romps
through flower gardens?
did VanGogh paint in colors of glee?

balance
the dusk
the dawn
the unwitting pawn
the king who holds court
the peasant who merely survives

view from my pulpit before you judge
stand in my shadow before you declare
that I am without light

I don't know what to say
I don't know what to say
Please do not leave
Please do not leave me today

I stitched each of them on to me, knitted
It tight on my flesh. I bleed for a moment
But it was just another etched on my flesh.

Each perforation was another that joined my flesh,
Entwined on my soul I made their hair in to fine
Cotton and each was given a place upon my being.

"Eye,
      "Neddle,
                    "Backstitch­,
                                     "Scissor,
                                                   "Seam,

A honour of their offering was felt as I seeped on
Their twine. Pain was a lust that was sort but
Never harvested and my culling was full.

Flesh was just moment of time aging ever moment
Decaying since birth. Their hair lived longer than
What was but food for thought now no more.

My limbs like a puppet on stings, but I am their keeper
Of life on me, in me they live on. I stich their memory
So many colours do  I weave on to myself.

Blonde,
             Brown,
                         Chestnut,
                                     Ginger

But the ones that are lucky that never grace my being,
They are those of least crowns on their scalp.
I am one of such no hair on myself. But weaves I
Sculpt upon myself, they live on even though bodies rest.


I have many stitches on my flesh of weavings not my own,
But their essence will always be here as long as I live on.
Seeing those moments which will be etched on myself,
I will weave all into the picture etched on my skin.

*"A stitch in time ebbs your existence your soul to mine,