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Heath Leonard Apr 22
Eyes dart like arrows, following movement, avoiding light,
seeking, chasing, hunting with curious paranoia,
diving forward into the vibrant thrills of the world,
constantly watching, observing, analyzing all surroundings,
settling with calm, calculated responses to a constant data stream,
typewriter-read, scanning all, no threats detected,
forever alert to the split-second movements and signals that count.

A blade of scent cuts through my mind's forest, sharp and direct,
a slap to the face, an awakening, a trigger,
close-range proximity, long-distance remembrance,
lingering like visible clouds in the air,
tasteful, able to be tracked, subconscious gravitation,
melting into the sweet-smelling void,
glazed with natural laughing-gas, my feet already move,
locked on to something I can't even have.

Branches crack, leaves rustle, neck twisted instantly,
turning curiously towards such a dance on eardrums,
nature's symphonies rushing like rivers through my mind,
lifting me into the air with every vibration and harmonic syllable,
carrying me away from the chaos and into perfect harmony,
floating through time as music shifts and pulls my limbs into motion.

Various flavors glide over delicate hills,
gentle, explosive, I never know what to expect,
stinging or soothing, sweet or bitter,
will the swirls of savory life caress my soul,
or rip it to shreds and bite the tongue it feeds,
a beast to be tamed, but never conquered.

Toes dig into rich earth, springing forth with power,
muscles tensing, relaxing, hands grasping for life,
velvet's gentle touch, water's enveloping embrace,
submerged in nerve endings shooting lightning across the abyss,
like a stone skipping across a rippling pond, balanced,
bounding into endless skies as clouds swirl and the sun shines,
forever living within the terrarium of our Universe.
Heath Leonard Apr 22
I've taken up a part-time job as a chew toy,
and a full-time job as a broken bird.
My wings, once white and magnificent,
now have shriveled and vanished,
for I am Icarus and have flown too close to my sun.
Men without faces to beds without feelings,
is this truly what I wanted?
Or am I the ultimate *******,
stuck in a constant scene with no safe word,
taking hit after hit because I feel I deserve it.
I find myself at the feet of Eros, beautiful in his godhood,
and I pray, I pray, please tell me I'm worth more than this,
tell me I can love, though I know not what love is,
nor if I deserve it,
tell me I can make something out of this chaos I have flown into.
And as he smiles, I feel my vision blurring as I hit the mattress,
that ****** mattress on the floor, plush with a false sense of security, but firm in its reminder of what I am;
he cups my face and stabs me,
"This is nothing,"
and so nothing I am.
Heath Leonard Apr 22
There are some flaws not even Porcelain 110 can cover and as I slather the spackle on over this mask,
I notice that the cracks run a bit deeper this time,
the shadows a bit darker,
the eyes more red from sprung leaks and sleepless nights.
I find myself with bags I never bought and chuckle at my mother's face staring back in the mirror; there's a quiet realization that I never understood how she felt until now.
Because the cracks run deeper,
the shadows a bit darker,
the eyes more red and I can't help but wonder if I too should let this home crumble.
After all, at what point does a fixer-upper become a lemon,
nothing more than a void to pour money into even though it's not going to improve?
In this economy I suppose I ought to re-market it as not having cracks but character while telling potential buyers not to worry because the basement only floods when it's raining; but of course, this is Seattle, so you might as well just make a swimming pool.
The repainting, renovating, heart break only adds another pile of shattered glass to the corner I've got to clean up at some point but am too exhausted to because the cracks run deeper than I can handle,
the shadows darker than I can hide,
the eyes more red from sprung leaks and sleepless nights waiting for the wrecking ball to do its ******* job and level me.
Heath Leonard Nov 2013
Upon peering through your soul's windows,
to a marvelous forest within,
luscious trees, soft grass, fluffy bushes,
vines spiraling around a black center;
So full of life, natural beauty,
like taking a gasp of fresh air;
I could get lost within these woods of wonder,
wandering peacefully among the growing green,
ever-stretching upward like my arms to embrace you;
When I go into your forest, I finally know peace.
Heath Leonard Nov 2013
Birds lull enchanting eyes closed,
with a feathery kiss of a lullaby;
Timid, temporary breaths sigh into the breeze,
like soft music, playing from a pastel castle,
a muse of life, a soft tune amidst midnight's hue.
Heath Leonard Aug 2013
Piece by piece, a broken heart shatters,
collapsing on itself, splitting apart;
Though there is no time to waste mourning.
Piece by piece, it separates,
giving itself away, to others;
Just to fill the holes in theirs.
Now just a chip, a fragment remains,
owner curled up around it for warmth,
hanging on by a single vein.
Nothing is left to give away,
without throwing away a lifeline;
Nothing can be harmlessly lost,
until people start returning what they borrowed.
Heath Leonard Aug 2013
Flickering faces across a torn movie screen,
familiarity now an issue, memories hazed,
played before a blind audience,
gazing with foggy eyes.

Repeated images, phrases, sounds;
Laughter, cries, harmonies,
impossible to remember,
but one never forgets.

Eyes aware among the glass,
lone crystal tears falling down porcelain,
a whisper of laughter flies through empty air,
pained from the lonesome burden.
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