“So don’t leave me here with only mirrors watching me.”

Refract these feathered images I see of myself in frames made of styrofoam and gold. Sing to me cream coloured envelopes filled with artificial symbols of the world which we claim to comprehend. Burn the books we’ve read like bibles and demand proteplanetary explanations to the questions that they were unable to answer. Travel through time into photographs of old women wearing even older hats while caught in the rain on a ****** sunday evening. If it were not for their black umbrellas, the spiders spinning webs from the heavens would weave and weave within their hair until silk and dead skin become one. Locks and locks will pile up at our feet as we dance under a kaleidescopal illusion of barely visible stars. They will not twinkle, but whisper, mutter dark commands into microscopic megaphones.You will flee; and I will continue feverishly twirling until the city no longer exists.

the drops on the window whisper to me in raspy tunes. reminding me not of anything that i have heard before while containing remnants of every piece ever composed. their distinctly indistinct melodies transcend the barrier of my skull, planting their seeds in my brain. they come in waves, rays and radio signals, each scrambling to become what my soul has assumed them to be. i am more engrained in these sounds, which rarely waver, than that which is warm and moving. 6:31 and it’s red and black. is this all the light the ether has to offer? mechanical digital clocks and plastic glass window panes compose the fabric of the world that has been created within the solar system of my darkness. fragments of time and space or space and time? only the solid wood desk chair knows which came first. it’s dying to be that paper on the wall, flat, flimsy and unthinking. who knows the horrors that its aura can create as it screams to be released, emancipated from its stark white jail. how terribly terrifying it must be, to never be quite convinced of their iridescent ideas of existence.

i am no longer a dying species.
this blood is no longer my own.

i will no longer find fermented ****-ups
in the full blown fears that find me in purgatory
between daylight and the infinite darkness.

darkness is not quite an absence of light
but a culmination of all the light that has ever
existed within the ether of everyday life.

as you trod upon your floral dream-world
pierots on pillows gaze.
watching you with
intent.

peonies are being pulled back beneath,
the false divider, between
earth and fire.

barriers.

are simply states of your soul stuck watching,
divine totems decapitate themselves
instead of succumbing to
slumber.

the blades on which you rest end abruptly.
leaving only an ancient path within.
lost somewhere between dying
dynasties.

there is a hole in the dirt where gravity sings,
to cobblestone satellites scanning
the skies.

for more than a sign that knowledge need not be,
a colossal misconception...
transcending

even the most distant star cluster.

sometimes...
chaos forces us to examine the ghosts
we thought we had banished to the coldness of a casket,

buried deep within cranial cemeteries,
one last time before they disintegrated
into the obscurities of our souls.

souls which have embarked on the journey
of infinite slumber.

it was no coincidence that the date of their departure,
aligned with the evening on which the

last living butterfly was impaled upon a piece of cardboard.

no longer a free being,
but a newly framed monument to a time
where the dead did not dance with the living.

from the surface of the earth,
an airplane is visible as it struggles to stay a flight.

a flash of seemingly divine light...

residents run towards the horizon,
hoping to escape it’s godly wrath.

all technological monoliths go up in flames.

earthlings awake
to another earth just past the ether,
nobody seems to mind.

i tell them we are going to die.

i entrap my pale flesh between my fingers,
in hopes of awakening.

there is a library and i am in the centre,
beneath the skylight.
letting in all of those otherworldly fragments.

the earth comes back for a moment,
then it fades away...

as i follow my subconscious,
into a new world of stardust collisions.  

a world within the universe of my brain.

the grey man in the stars

tells me my greatest flaw is that
i am both a creator and a destroyer.

and as the rain takes hold,
the heaviness subsides.

i feel like i’m waiting on nuclear stardust,
to make it’s indiscriminate remark on all of
mankind.

there is something calming about
electric discharge embellishing the heavens,
acoustic echoes plaguing solitary eardrums.

humility, apathy, reality.
their colours run
becoming one...
a sort of dingy brown.

i’d always assumed the shade of the universe
would be a little more obscure.