When he talks, I can hear it.
Every syllable, I can hear it.
Every time his tongue whips the back of his upper teeth I hear it.

When his lips are shooting arrows, slicing crimson haze I hear it,
hear the anguished rumble of Venus birthing stellar symphonies,
and when his vocal cords are trembling do I hear this convocation.
As the sun begins to cry, do I hear of merciful heavens.
When fiery lips blast melodies that stun my ears and sear my tongue,
do I hear the distant quell as nebulae shiver crack and burst.

He slaughters constellations with prose.
He ignites the universe with murmurs.
He pulls Andromeda in speech,
every astral breath and screech.

Now that our royal head has gone
You are left with a single note in your song
You are now the upholastery
the carraige left to still carry on
In rivers plastered above faith and will
Righteously your love has grown in
deeper roots bright and strong
I know no other humen on earth
who loved her womb much more than her own
The corinthian covered in lime stone
stand strong forever
So when I open this final book
of proverbs and revolation
I know you are the mother
I ache to keep a lifetime as my salvation.

I love you mom.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

LOVE
TASTES LIKE
A CLIPPED WING
FALLING FROM HEAVEN
THAT SPILLED
FROM MY MOUTH
LEAVE THE ROSE
IN PIXIE DUST AIR
ON THE THRONE
OF MY TONGUE- DANCING
SO MY WORDS CAN SEND
RAINBOWS TO HILLTOPS
REACHING THE SKY.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

I miss blue eyes that no longer weep

Walk through the house
Because I just can't sleep
I wear your old blue blouse
keeping your presence close

I cry for eyes that no longer weep

©js/2014

It's never quite right,
the way I feel upon waking.

It's never quite right,
at night when its time to sleep.

It’s a vicious cycle of dependence on
whatever the moment requires.

10 mg of this, 20 mg of that , 
  
my see-saw bloodstream
keeps me constantly in need
of something.

     It's like having Phantom Limb Syndrome,
      except you can't figure out
      which limb is missing.

          It's like driving a car on ice,
           constantly slipping and
           over correcting.

               It's like having PTSD,
                only the triggering incident
                hasn’t happened yet.

                    It's like mixing
                     red and blue paint,
                     in the end its always purple.


What’s left is a life of constant searching and
the frustrating inability to drive between the lines.

A life filled with debilitating fear and
an ever present sense of impending doom.

A lifetime sentence

in a land of purple fog nothingness.