we have inner peace. it helps to keep us calm
makes us feel so safe when ever we feel harm.
it is there inside. there to call upon
when we need it most it helps us carry on.

there inside your body in your heart and soul
there to give you peace always on patrol.
everybody has its there inside of you
inner peace is there and will pull you through

this is my song in the desert
stumbling in my pursuits
when my mind, it is dry, but my heart it does beat
dug deep inside my pretended screams

i yell to hear myself feel
buried beneath a silent mind
clawing my walls and playing my keys
someday my hip bones will turn into wings

flying across this desert of skin
i cling to the hints of hope tossed within
and wait for the stars to fall closer and near
as i wait to whisper along my desert song

my fingers bleed so desperately
hungry to cling to that tree made of pain
but i am afraid of my weight so to stay sane
i lean into silence and kiss my own fingers clean

i walk along the curve in my spine
only once i heard the muffled sounds come clear and clean:
i am not free
and this is my song in the desert

i smile my denials, what a sweet smile
i don’t want to be the judge in all of his trials
please stop these thoughts from running too deep
add one more thorn to your crown to bleed

when i cannot breathe, still this is my song in the desert
when everything in me is dry
please let me hum and escape this quiet brain
until the sun falls out of the sky

i tried to find my rooftops
to find my wings in bloom
i tried to leap into your arms
but afraid to tear your scars, i fled

i slept inside my skin instead
tracing shapes with my restless legs
but oh please send help, i am not fine
i harbor the assassin inside my mind

i grasp for an angel and touch a dream
lost in a city with only me
i threw my maps and watched them drift
my knuckles are mountains and my veins fake streams.

in the very dark back corner of my brain
up a serpent arises
to kiss my lies in slow depart
this alone i cannot slay

and this is my song in the desert
my flesh i am desperate to bleed
but my weapons are dull, rusted and old
and my battle cry fades into silence

on the day that i cried
she said she saw an illness in my eyes
your deathly crown sits along my waterline
cupping my iris, reminding me of their crimes

this is my desert song
sung when my heart is so heavy
that it crushes my lungs
and with its deflate finally i see your name

but rip my tightly woven threads
and gently untangle my knotted hair
the wind has blown across the dust of my thoughts
please sweep me up and wash me whole

perhaps whats been dried will taste sweeter and longer
brighter vibrations with growing explosions
the victory sweeter and my strength grown softer
maybe when your water runs

again i will grow green
and i will be clean
under your tree
thorns will turn back to dark lashes again

this is my song in the desert
as i search for streams inside my soul
drain me of the dust inside
and cup a single drop into my side

this is my secret song, please
teach me to be whole
loud and clear with silenced fear
my unsung song will scream through

and in you i will hear my soul again.

I get to return to myself, a no one who did not even know what she was, whether it was constant change or stable constants. So we return to time. I have a figment in my mind of what it means to be whole though it has never been known to me.
I return to the heart that was me before I was holding onto it, trying not to lose it to the winds of people who claim themselves our masters. Far family and close friends, we all tend to play cruel games of replaying what we see.
I cannot be alone, which is to mean I am alone with myself. My nose is held in the air, insensitive to the scent of my own fear, even though it pervades, it permeates everything.
I have to relearn who I am but go deaf instead. All I know is being abandoned, first of all by me. They all merely repeated what I did.

So try now to hold onto empty air. It all falls apart though fairly quickly. My past lovers are haunting to dreams, when once kissed then speaking in minor rejections because it matters not anymore. Who I am, what I was, when I was that being of someone with them. They held my tongue and never really anything else. There is nothing to give away if I have myself not. And I tried so very hard to.

No one can really go back but we all restart again and again. This way we have no control over feelings which leave us broken down waiting for the next reboot and then resurface again, elapsing to the same old torture from before. And each time I am different for the river forgot me the moment I stepped out of her stream.

So in this vacuum what is to be known but this shape, it is all of me. Uncertain lines, constantly changing and shifting stable constants. The old voices did know even if they do not me. Regressive art is a following of reality that fades into a past, this distance not in existence.
Truth holds no choices and I seem devoid of the solution to desires. This force way too much pulling onto and imprinting it into me. I hang inside a pendulum unaware and unable of this changing which tried to **** itself by inviting others to invade her so fully.

I know, all I know, it is this: blank space. That all is really true. Nothing is ever solid.


© October 25, 2014

God has relinquished
Ownership
With a blast of his breath,
Blowing the dust
Off the rock,
Sentencing us to death,
Worse, maybe life,
With our will.