The Hallows
The Hollows
Like a pit inside a peach,
If you could see them
Resting peacefully together.


Like shifting sands in Hidalgo
Gradual rise and fall
The fall being:
A gradual graceful shape
At the bottom of the dune.
Where I can lay my head
and witness the winds whipping around me.
Blades, then part of skin which hammocks my cheek, Sandwiched by vertebrae.
I think I’ll take another bite.
And lay at the bottom of the dune

Dear God,
I'm sorry for my wrongdoings. I fail again and again. Well, there's a part of me that's sorry, and there's a part of me that's not. But you know.
                                      You know every part.
You lurk on me like the shadows of the vultures as I sit here. This plateau gives way to the crumbling rock of a steep abyss leading to nowhere. A place wild; cruel; punishing.

Maybe it's not for humans. Maybe all this is not what you wanted.

I sit here on this flat plane of earth—sometimes in the center,
and sometimes teetering on the edge of the abyss, with tufts of dust wafting up from my legs as I sit down, like angels fluttering, yelling from a silent world,
Warning me away from here.
There are no war cries or flinging catapults. No horses screeching in pain. No iron weapons orbiting towards my skull.
Only the arid desert wind across my lips. So light, yet so heavy.
Augmenting the silence.
enveloping my solitary physical mold.
Highlighting the emptiness.
There's an entangled sense--
Sorrowful emptiness and peace. It hangs like an electrical charge. unbalanced.
My head hangs, eyes projected towards a pair of tan leather boots on a pair of feet that happen to be mine. The wind blows. My eyelids shut, feeling the sting of salt and soil.
My heart gives in like an imploding star, and the remains cave inward. Deep into the abyss
between my ribs. Deep into the warmth of the body that was once mine. I fold in on myself, and now rest.

Coming home--wet and cold
With sore feet.
My insides match my outward appearance.
Peeling off my layers,
And collapsing into bed.
It hugs around so perfectly--(the bed)...
I embrace the sinking sensation.    Sink,   Sink,
                                     Morph,   Morph,
                             Decompose.
                                                    P­eacefully.
  It's no longer about me, and my separation from the rest of the world.
I don't have to feel the separateness
                                                    ever again.
     It feels great
to feel insignificant.
     Nothing unusual or confusing...
             And nothing to be criticized.
                 Just the meldings of the world and who "I" am.
                               Disappearing and becoming re-birthed
                 Into a place of different feeling. A different kind of being.
                                                             . . .
              ...My insignificance is what makes me feel special sometimes.


                                                    ­        . . . .

                                            ~I want to be tucked away~
                                ~In everything that is quiet and kind.~

Inserted ear buds
Attempted confinement
Chained to misery.
My igloo of isolation with the computer doesn't hold well against
Winds of anxiety blowing torrents of stuff through my mind.
An arctic tundra of ravaged grass.
Long-necked lamp looms
Waiting anxiously for me and
Witnessing bouts of non-progress.
Perpetrators impregnate fleeting tranquility
Never wanting me to win
in my concentration.
--Bony bodies slipping under the crack in the door.
They are the Monkey Mind
I have to escape from.
Many.
Petty.
Fears.
This is the way my consciousness wages war.
Ripping itself apart
Defeating purpose
till there is none.
During battles,
Monkeys Rule It All.
At the end
I shall win.

Everything was dreary
...And bleak.
And my skin happened to look red and splotchy.
All I had wanted
Was to binge on coco flavanols and overdose on caffeine.
I hadn't moisturized my skin after my shower, or put cover up on while it was still moist and warm. My veneer had not been established.
I told myself it didn't matter..
But really this issue was the cultivation
The turning point of my day.

Then I put my face on.
The grey, somber mask turned to Lovely, Feminine Pink.
As I spread the beige cream across my complexion, I felt something shift; insidious.
I felt the ******* I had been enslaved to.
I had been the one
With no friends and no sellouts to lug around with the rest of her baggage.
I had been the one
Who gawked and sneered
At the self-medication of the lonely girls who looked oh-so attractive
With their gleaming, hair~framed faces
And popping eyes.
What have I become?
I now claim this self selling drug
As my own.
What does it mean? What does it say about me?
Even more importantly, what does it say about you, and your stand point?
Do you put your face on, or do you let your soul bubble out of the surface of your complection?
FACE
A FACE
A million faces, pretty ones.
It's time to face the place of natural grace and replace the superficial first impression we chase.

All of a sudden,
It hit me
And i love you.
Over every man.
Every sundae.
every DRESS.
All for you, I've made such a mess
Of my life
And of my rules.
You are a beloved to me.
Above all jewels is your legacy to set people free.
Freedom.

The branch of my thought stream bursts higher and higher
This hailing; writer's brainstorm fueling the fire.

Some words of mine
Aren't meant to admire,
Though some I take pride in
And relive their desire.

Nevertheless, all words are children from this tree.
Where foreign pieces of myself are revived and set free.

Each leaf buds from the words that I choose
Joining in growth
For a fabulous muse.

I imagine a hill, at the top is this tree.
One with bright leaves of red, yellow, and green.
It stands bent and crooked in its peaceful way,
And in the sweet breeze does it soft and lullingly sway.

My back is aching; my eyes are burning
But somehow my soul is still left yearning:
To be awake
And full of wonder
To walk the earth
Before my slumber.

I fight after sundown, and into the night;
I refuse sleep
Until Life is right.

But my stamina is gone
I can fight it no more
I have to lay down now;
Close my eyes,
And open the door.