take me to the basement,
drag me down the cornered stairs,
tell me what to do and when
and feed me words in pairs.
pry open worn out floorboards
in the corner by the door
inhale dry and showered dust
lose what you're looking for.

forget the sound the walls make
when they creak on aching legs
forget the calls your mom makes
when she finds your empty bed
forget the thud of running feet
on dark and wet cement,
just take me back to anything.
take me to the basement.

a new book comes up creeping
im not finished with the old
cold hands politely grasp the page
and pull it from my hold
if only i could wither
or root
or rot
or die
but its time to drag my feet;
to live is just to lie.

Oh, I don't care,
No, i keep it at arm's length.
I care too much.

descend, down through the cellar door
cross  over  creaking , paneled  floor
shed old cracked skin and sell ardor
desist from earth's green salad or
ascend the steps and walk away
walk far enough and meet the day
don't  lie  in  wait  beside  the  grave
for roots grow thick on those who stay

A plague with no relief,
It haunts me even in my sleep,
And when there’s no such thing as rest,
The mind is hard to keep.

The things that I saw yesterday,
Are not so clear today,
And answers I knew years ago,
Have never felt so far away.

If only I could clean the gears,
Or drive away the fog,
My window to beyond,
Didn’t last me long.

And should I be content
Earthbound in the top percent,
Or will I always strive to see again,
The things that I once did?

Mortality.
No idea is more unsettling up close.
Is there any other comfort but to keep it at arm’s length?

And I think only with this borrowed mind,
Unable to remember who I breathed through yesterday,
Is there any other tragedy but time?

How I itch to drop the blade myself
If only to escape man’s common prophecy,
Is there any other answer but self-destruction?

And as the kids that fell before me once said,
Oh, how wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying.
Is there any other purpose but seeking that which never was?

Lusting minds be warned:
Some thoughts can destroy you.

He carried it home on his brow.

I always thought the face,
was such a conspicuous place,
to carry such a weight,

but he never put it down.

~

Every crack in the pavement,
was a canyon for him to cross,
and taking steps towards her house,
was the hardest thing of all.

Her dog greeted him fondly,
Whiskey didn’t have a clue,
and he thought as he looked up
that maybe she was clueless too.

She smiled as she hurried
down the stairs in her old shirt,
the blue one with the bear on it,
and thats what made it hurt.

He took two shaky steps back,
nothing here was right,
and as his hand brushed cold metal,
stars crowded out his sight.

Whiskey’s tail stopped wagging,
just like that he stood still,
and all three stood waiting,
man and dog feeling the chill.

She lifted up her hands,
placing them on fragile hips,
tilted her head to speak,
but before she could part lips,

The alien sight of the gun,
in the familiar living room,
the sudden BANG of violence,
in the quiet, ****** home.

The startled gruesome twist,
on her pretty, young face,
and the bear on her shirt,
a hole in its place.

The bright red of the blood,
pouring onto pink floor,
the howl of the dog,
the slam of the door.

He carried it all home,
avoiding crevices as he went
because he knew better than she did,
not to test cracked cement.