Every night I wake from the same nightmare
Screaming ****** ******, flames echoing across the room.
Blink and I’m an infant, a 6 month-old cavity
In a crib crying rivulets of blood,
Drowning; sweat gushing in from all sides, boxed in like the pile of
ashes I still hallucinate about sometimes
(Would you rather burn or drown?)
Dean always chose to drown.
And in that twisted way he was his own man,
Always sky blue over jet black, but me; I
deserve to burn.
I guess it runs in the family.
Charred black: that’s my destiny. Hooked on IVs of
Liquid coal, onyx adorning my veins. In this (under)world
I
am
King.
My throne is carved out of fallen stars that
Couldn’t put themselves back together again. I sit on
Lipstick-stained skulls
(They have names, names that ring in the hollow of my
Heart, names that whisper;
Counting down the hands I’ve let loose, let go)
Its a tightrope of insanity that I’m tiptoeing on; teetering on the frayed
Edges between darkness and
Light
I cannot tell where I begin, where I end,
(is this all but a figment of my imagination?)
For Mom, Jess, Dean.
Dean
They are the cobwebs that still linger between my muddled mind,
Tethering me to a world of lies;
A world that has no place for a boy with a blinding smile and nightshade lips,
A boy who once dreamt of a love so good so pure
–but that was before–
Before I dug out the demons I’d thought I’d buried six feet under
the fireworks of that night on the 4th of July,
do you remember?
But that was the rose of my previous life,
Now all that are left
Are the thorns.

His ebony wings were spread-eagled, nailed crimson to a 
Cross (my heart, hope to die)
Head bowed, body dangling from gossamer strings pulled by 
Shadows mouthing out lyrics to an 
Unsung melody; a siren
Song of surrender and serenity amidst fragments
Of a fairytale heart that eternity tends to tear apart. 
Ichor peeks out from sleek surgical cuts, frosting his heart with
Thoughts that don't belong to him,
Voices that say "This is truth this 
Is gospel so take it take it or leave it" but there's never really a choice, not really.
And he's a blind man waiting for the sunrise:
Black and black and black and blue but he can't see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore
Where is it? 
Where is paradise? 
So under the stars it is- walking, walking, walking till his eyes smile with the light of constellations, chest rises without the weight of a thousand planets. Finally. 
Finally. *
The sun has risen when the train tracks suddenly cleaves in half and
he *chooses.
He chooses freedom.
Instantly the perpiration latches itself on him like a long-lost lover, but it doesn't taste like the 
barrel of a gun anymore
So he keeps trudging, dreaming about once-upon-a-time wings and caresses of the wind that drew shivers down his spine and sketched onto him an electric soul 
He blinks the roaring sand from his eyes,
When suddenly he finds himself lost, derailed, bare feet blazing, gazing 
up into the periwinkle desert sky. 
The abyss yawns louder and louder:
The sand is beige beckoning, the rocks burgundy bewitching
Slowly he leans forward--A tipping scale 
But he doesnotfall,doesnotfly, hovering on the edge of a shimmering faultline
Instead he melts into the arms wrapped around his waist (pulling him back)
every scar, every word he doesn't speak out loud outlined in unfamiliar pain and a scarlet emotion he doesn't recognise
In his ears are matching heartbeats, echoes ricocheting off bullet-proof wards, hiding a
Rock and roll soul
Look up just a little and he's drowning, heisdrowningdrowningdrowning in a troubled sea of brilliant green and flecks of gold
Cards fold, feet bold
Into the darkness he fell, bracing for the crash-land.
Rolling heads over heels, till the damp dust settles and lips meet lips.
What a sight. 
For once in his life, he doesn't fight. 
For a long time, they sit like that--back against back, 
Until cerulean blue eyes turns to amber and spring-bud green burns to ash.

Day 1:
You dance through it, with painted smiles and 
Portrait lenses tinted pink
You don't leave this sand castle you've constructed
Head in the clouds, tripping on thunderbolts

Day 2:
The sun draws shadows down your spine
You're not broken, only scratched 
A second-hand car, gone to get your fix
New paint to hide those scars

Day 6: 
There's no steering you away
By now its a repetition, wrenching sunlight from lemons
Black, white, black white
Black eyes, ripped pockets

Day 57:
Heaven is only for angels,
But you're a wolf in disguise
You flew too close to the sun, wax wings 
Burning, drowning, clawing (your way to the top again) 

Day 100: 
Today's the day. You're gonna do it again. 
Pierce the veil, soar to new heights
Away from those demons you used to know they shout out STOPDON'TDOTHIS
But you can't-FIGHTIT-don't want to wake from this dream

Day 9649: 
You're a blind man waiting for the sun to rise
It's getting hard to breathe in this haze
Then there's a pinprick of white
You surge forward, riding on waves of desperation

Day 335481:
Its an unsurmountable wall
You keep climbing and climbing and climbing and climbing but 
Look down and suddenly there's a hundred 
Miles left 
to 
drop
-

You say tell me everything
So I do. 
I tell you about how the sun rises and how it sets
And how the sea retreats from the shore after every wave
Grasping at the singular granules of sand
And not being able to hold on. 
I tell you about colourful dresses and sunsets and carnivals 
And of the deep sea fishes that have mastered the 
Art of becoming invisible 
BUT
But--
Underneath all this talk is hidden tension between us
Do you feel it too?
This small winged thing is hiding beneath layers and 
Layers of thick paint do you feel it too?

I haven't mentioned though, of the other things. 
They live under the paint too.
Along with the ravaged dreams and spoiled memories
They live off me, like parasites on a host. 
I am afraid. 
What will happen when they consume me?
What will happen to you?
 
So don't say tell me everything
Don't say nothing at all.
Pack your bags, go home, never see me again. 
And then make sure to take the splinters out of your back 
From that time I slammed you against the door.

You are smog you are 
the suffocating greyness coating my 
throat in thick layers like a winter coat,
Except on the 

Inside

Of cupboards behind
Bookshelves you are always there, waiting
For the perfect opportunity to strike
Hard, fast but its always your

Shadow

Puppets dance on my shoulder they
Don't reflect what's inside
But it doesn't matter, does it? 
Only that everyone likes the 

Dance 

Under the sun till my 
Head bake heart ache stop pulling on my
Strings I cannot feel my feet anymore 
How do I 

Stop?

And the moon cried out to the stars with a great wail.
Then came the insistent pounding of sky and earth and
Everything in between.
Before awestruck eyes crashed a
Great wall of water;
Raging, wild like a wolf that hadn't seen the moon for
Far too long a while. It loomed over them:
Tiny, pointless in comparison.
A drop of water amidst an ocean.
The wave seemed to shudder when it crested,
As time stopped to wave goodbye, and then
As if someone had pressed the fast forward button on a recorder
The wall came crashing down
And down
And down
And down.
And that is how, my darling,
Humpty couldn't
(for his life)
put himself back together again.