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M W Apr 2013
Mirrored "M" slanted forty five
strewn along like makeup over counters
add a little morning color
flushed like newly applied blush
bright pink renewal.
A daily "happy" dosage
prescribed like an apple
to stay healthy.

There is a llama on the mirror, too,
made up of scribbled lines
drawn with a purpose
to propose a smile
and make a simile
as if there was rhythm to write by
as if it did not end,
as trembled fingers tried to suppress shudders,
and a wall was constructed with blacked out windows
and Tardis blue shutters.
"It's bigger on the inside,"
                                               it used to be.

what the heart endows,
or rather "whom" it is endowed to.
as they were combined
1                                      +                      ­             1                                           =                         2.

If swords, words, battles, done.
"Right, bye."
M W Mar 2013
like gunshots that ring out
like sidewalks that split into streams where weeds will sprout
Where lighting meets rolling thunder
and the right hand reaches up
to grasp at malevolent rock
a fissure stemmed from burden
expanded to a chasm saturated with charisma
splashing over like a full brimmed stout
pounded down onto a suede counter
sending trembles of fervent thought
that jangles
like a child's toy rattler
banged against stone and span
to finally chip away at consistency
jarred three hundred and sixty degrees
and derived from a number inferred to live as one
promptly assuming the form to hold two
to ascertain the title "Aunt."
I need some advisement on this. It's not done, but in your opinion, does the flow of ideas work together?
M W Feb 2013
I am having trouble
when my head hits my pillow
the weight pushes me,

Downwards further into
the sunken mattress depressed
throughout the sleep years,

Back in time when rest
came easily and I did not
have to chase dream sheep,

But I lay awake
and fruitlessly search in the
M W Feb 2013
A clay *** holds your happiness.
It's halfway tall,
reaching up to your thigh,
Narrow, blown up in the middle, narrow.
Simple lid with a spherical dot for fingers to grasp,
and a black drawn line
that curls from base to lip,
and over.
Insides encumbered by sweet darkness,
shaded glory,
because outside,
Spiraled gold that must have dribbled off the sun's ice cream cone
leaked through the bottom where the end had broken
and flavor escaped
to land on your mirthful urn.
Blue so clear,
the sky surely lost a piece of itself
as a crack appeared
and a fragment cascaded downward
to shatter along your pleasant chalice.
And in between,
are lines of green
that could have only originated
on pinewood trees
in a forest so dark
that monsters beware.
Bordering a little town
where children played
and only truth was called,
never dare.
Because there is red on your delighted decanter.
Spattered droplets
of coagulated sparks.
Jaded needles saturated,
with pine fresh essence
emanating from your zesty flagon.
And a single spot,
Bereft of treasure.
Parted from cerulean.
Robbed of Viridian.
And severed in the roots of a blushing Amaryllis.
Occupying there,
a white blemish,
a shape of infinite corners
immaculately defined
and so small,
you will never find it                                                                                                 ­               on the canister
that harbors your smile.
M W Feb 2013
Cold bodies.
Devilish grins plastered over greyed faces,
dripping with glee
and dragging limbs.
As rotted flesh closes in,
yearning to grip and pull.
Bite into the sweets, ripened.
To break the seal,
bursting blood red to splatter.
Tear with teeth.
Wanting it, so badly.......
beyond the fence
topped with barbed wire
repeatedly pressing against.
How much strain,
how much push till it breaks
and falls to the ground
to release the horde.
To feast on the world.
A zombie poem, I guess...
M W Feb 2013
grips my thoughts
pushing me from room
to roam around
pace the living room
until a path is worn into the rug
flecked with dirt,
particulates of current and past occupants.
Is the scratch on the wall from me,
or did I never notice it until now?
My roommate broke a cabinet in the first few months
and one of the blinds falls whenever
brushes against it.
The couch is sunken in on one side,
and hurts to sleep on,
it gets too hot under my flowered duvet
but too cold
as the glass sliding door
does not condone a well-insulated system
more of an open
with heat escaping in and out
positive and negative transferred through a window
to a parking lot, and a mellow wall.
What a view...
Staring out into the night,
fingers poised
teeth clenching
lip biting
I thought I was over this. I'm supposed to be over this.
Why am I not over this?
Because now I am crying.
Because now I drink in tears,
and spill myself,
crumbling past the defense I was building,
reinforced with concrete and friends,
I am higher,
above the world,
on the rooftops.
Trade places with me?
The days will rewind,
like a vcr
until it pops up,
except it will stick,
because it will not let go.
M W Feb 2013
Every day, I love you less.
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