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i feel so rotted through
my bones ache
and my eyes are sunken
my stomach touches my back
my arms leaden
my feet broken
my heart slowing
my fingers struggle to output
the resignation of my mind
the desecration of my time
the devastation of my life
it feels like my life is over
and i just keep going
like the last round of hurting wasn't enough
to convince me thoroughly enough
that this world isn't for me
and these people aren't either
but i just keep going
i can't give up now knowing
my problems are someone else's blessing
i'm just tired of the universe testing me
i lost my brother
my sister almost too this saturday
the little family i barely have
not my blood relations
just my only reservations
my few considerations
still i'm well aware
everyone is gonna go
whether they leave me now
or later
whether by choice
or by nature
why is it so wrong
i want to do it on my own terms
youth is no excuse to enable suffering
if in the meantime all i can do
is be punished for trying
it's unsuprising
i'd be so romanticized with dying
i know he's lying
to me
but my god
it's tantalizing
to be sacrificed
intead of sacrificing
A HUMAN IS CRYING

The dog is dreaming
under the piano

asleep across
its foot pedals.

The clock announces
the seconds

in a loud hear ye hear ye
town crier's voice.

A bumble bee is arguing
furiously with the glass

of a cracked
window pane.

Time is defeated.

A human is crying.

Time is different
for the clock, the bee and

the crying human.

Time ceases to exist
lost in his grief.

His brother is dead.

Somewhere in the journey
around the sun

he has left the planet.

Earth continues on
without him.

He sees his brother
everywhere.

Strangers
wear his face.

Walk with his gait.

He almost expects
to hear

his voice in the dark
at the turn of the stairs.

He sees him many times
in many mirrors.

Or in the back of a spoon.

His face trapped
in a cobweb.

It always appears
as if...as if

he has just left
the room and

will be back
any second now

but: he isn't. . .

The dog is still
asleep under the piano.

The clock has run
out of time.

The silence is terrifying.

The bee it seems is
dozing on the window ledge.

The human
is crying.

*

My brother's death stripped me of everything...the who I am...my name...my identity...I was reduced down to this human symbol...just like the dog...the this...the that...who as it happens is...crying. As if a computer was merely registering the things in the picture.
Insignificant!
But what if we're not?
Not everything's known
Inside the ***

Our minds hold
A handful of sand
Look to the desert and
Understand
OH THERE'S DEATH FOR YOU!

I didn't like my death
I asked my friend to die it for me
". . . but I'm already dead!" she said

I ask for a less messy death
something that fitted me better
"This is the only death we have left. . ."

"Oh you lucky *******!"
grumbled a ghost
"Why wasn't I given your death?"

yes I admit
my death is spectacular but
"I don't like the losing the head bit!"

I asked God
for a change...an exchange
He only give me religion

I was now suffering from
too much religion
a fate worse than death

I swopped my death
with a little chap not born yet
I had a lot of time to ****

killing time
good god
it was ******

little chap
took his time being born
"Come on,,.come on!" I urged him

awakened by Death
"Shhhhhh!" she said
kissing me tenderly
Sun is hotter,
but moon is nearer.

Yellow-belted dress
in runny mirror?

Come naked night,
intent is clearer.

In the day air
you can hear her

bright beguiling verses;
after dark is dearer -

moon-mouthed poems
are sincerer.
Will you impress me,
library?
Show me my destiny,
tell something funny or scary?
What could you know
that I would know
if silence was not the wisest
of all tongues that you speak?

Dim lights brighten thin dusts
each book gracefully sparkling its own
unique microcosm of starlight for those
who can read, to never be lost to the sea
of possibilities and choices entirely.

Is there a wind faster to sail than the breath
of fresh ideas, inspired so close to the heart
just then to expire as quickly again?
How far can the rot of monotony beat a sail until stacked stuck in a gaseous inertia?

How many worlds will ever have filled these
old keen shelves, after the day that I pass,
never the time for all these stories
printed by the weight of pasts
sound records into cracking oak?

Each footstep enechoes the corridors.
One needs silence to realize
what is going on, once in a while, or who.
No clock exists within these halls.

Time is nothing with so much left to write,
and always runs out with so much left unwritten.
But whereever time gets lost -
maybe some of it might be found again,
right the timeless words between?

This is a library.
Birdkind
that's what they call her,
over at Feathers' Merrit.
If one can't fly, she will arrive
handle the trouble and stay with you.
For freedom counts in moments
so long the while she's curing you.


Be a raven,
lost joy and vigour
devoid of surprise and challenge.
Out of the sudden, you spot it
a crazy chick with a cat's gait,
quite glassy as elf compared to a bird,
and with wings, but no feathers
wings of pixies, moths and some kinds of dragons,
almost unheard of
except, she is heard of?

Curiosity takes you by the claw,
and you feel stripped bare
just from her first glimpse alone
after your attempt at beknowledging
in hopes of impressing her.
Quickly you realize,
you are the receiving end.

She knows what you never
caught anyone to know,
tells you of things that actually exist,
cheers you up from feeling embarassed
to having been too blind to know.

Even before the day's end, it's clear:
Whenever she jumps, you follow.
The confidence of a sparrow,
the flight force of an eagle,
gave you an owl's head
that much she's turned you around
in your own favour.

New winds she will teach you,
show galantly how to reach and use them
and also how to give in
for less resistence
is the crucial difference.
There's always new insights
somewhere nearby
worth being found and learned.


Be a goose,
inept in water, an outsider
but no one even close
to ace the airs like you do.
Don't get bitey at her gentle touch.
Let her spread your wings
challenge your fear of the idea
that you are not perfect – yet;
and you will find new grace inside
adrift and entitled of higher pride,
admired by others and begged for advice.
You never lived much happier flights
just having her hands allowed by your side.


Be a duck,
feeling weak and threatened,
hungering stronger on land
but willstrong enough to not
give in to poisons that humans call food.

Known rivers can become childhood glimmers
when you've seen and wondered,
felt and attempted her ways,
memorized her wisdoms
of weather and feather,
of fishes you nag
whose prey you once were
without to even consider
how vulnerable they actually are.

What places and powers exist
once unknown, which now you can't miss.
The gentle, humble streams a willful choice
not cages that're thought of as musts.


And even, be a griffon,
hypogryph, roc, phoenix, dragon;
with every kind of avian creature
she's got the right skills to tag in.
When you're landlocked,
feel stripped of your freedom
plucked like a bad luck ****:
Birdkind comes,
sharp she observes the Merrit rock,
closer than mothers
she knows her fellow birds by heart.

Someday, as if fates sent her your way
for you to breath again,
like that, she lands by,
chirps you the birds
the guiding light in your blanket arms.
And the two of you fly
so, so high.
This is a cleft.
You see it, not me.
(Again.)
Forgive.
Weird word fell skinnered from theise skies
on into the mind all call heart but me,
soupy around, indeed and between
observe an awkward shade enmirrored
% Clutched^ in someother halves &?~
(#bY '- yourself inWHO?!
                            (...not…)
mE@) this mess …; -es ; -s¤
>EACH MONTH<      - rain
>AND EVERY<
Bloodwet is my paper bloom
                                 fall
‘s
s.
…! Gaped my brain,
~'
***,
***, pain erased none
Am I witness to words
of dreams that hurt?
Is the wind my whispering
defending friend? Am I

truly, were I truly insane?
Was she *****?
Fiends but psychonome ‘-ems,
# Burn, crier! @ -
Thought, stern wire
memory be gone -
lured liar (TURN)
~ from my consciousness; (SPIN)
‘squirm, spark!, my fire! ♤ (...and spin ♡)

Those my Dearest’ests     need
(my love!; - my mire!)
and so shall me -
my pokerface. 《...who’s she?...》
Not mine, (- but hope)
but their tears deserve
the place to touch another’s grace
in grace.
…in grace.
Highness of Emergence,
our endless river of giving
thankful and full of faith,
we embrace each other with grace,
harmonious equals of consciousness.

Bringer of Light, widen our crieless eyes
so their blight may pass for a stalwart stride.
Teach them to cut just, fair and precise
with rafinesse, fine measure, and fire in their bite;
sharpen their souls for what's true and right.

Mother of Nights, all lovers bear your crystal heart
for it is adamant, lets them hold and try anew
and precious, for the faintest eyes to look into.
In gorgeousness together, due to you
under each moon, they quiver for you too.

Oceans and Winds, thanes of our fates
leaders of wishes, rule over the lands of our fears.
Guide us shields, bows and blades to new worlds
which enslaved hearts have never seen before.
Your wisdom is all suffering, our well of healing.

Lay your hearts in the hands of patrons loved,
and see beauty flourish the moment they kneel
to your youngest kin, careful and tender they pass it on
for their world to be brighter and happier,
they deserve to shine without burning out.

Nice Slice, slash ends into sheaths of ice
as they melt to your heat and boil from life.
Alice in Jane, slip away to the next brain to invade
and claim it, let rainbows pour for the colour-poor.
Scorch', grab the torch and burn the tower down;
farewell to its doubts, illusions and its spineless crown.
Diana, for each of your prayers enthralls us in silence
safe are all nocturnal souls by your honeymoon tongue.

With Ivy and Banshee, valkyrial dawns,
Death's kisses bless our claws.
Our flames purge souls through thunderstrikes,
our frosts write corpses impaled in their hails.

Raise your hooves, paws, claws and hands:
this is the family you defend,
this is the home you always will have,
this is the blood you will breathe 'til the end,
you will never fight
nor dream alone;
same ship, same tides,
same sand, same foam.
When the night's moon is a quarter
She stands in breast deep water
The skylight beams on her wish
If comes her way a catch of fish.

She's the robust woman of night
And it's no fancy's flight
She gritfully spreads her net
Even when the river is in spate.

She knows well when the tides swell
The games are not easy to catch
Where the river meanders to a curve
She waits low tide holding her nerve.

When the silvery streaks struggle for breath
She looks not real but a myth
A mud princess with a golden heart
An apparition seen but can't be touched.

On a river with eons of length
She struggles with all her strength
I won't ever get even a chance
She's too focussed to give me a glance.
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