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Melissa Mutch Mar 2012
this looks like a good point to begin the end of my apocalypse
pointless or forbidden meaning seems to me, always eclipsed
always hidden from my view or understanding
i thought i was falling, but i feel my feet landing
and as i slowly approach the beginning of the end
the synapses are awakened and the curtain starts to bend

sleepwalking thru this nightmare is a test we'll see
if every puzzle piece falls where it's meant to be
and it makes me dizzy as i sink
that one day this imagination will cease to think
that the ideas growing will stop dead
and that every thought floating around in my head
was wasted and never captured with the pen

unwrapping covers and revealing the under current
that sweeps me away as memories stay recurrent
the mask i wear that smiles so bright
won't fall off without a fight
and it seems the battle has been tight
for eternity the armies shed blood, day and night

And as the end approaches me i realize i have stopped dead in my tracks
subconsciously solved so to me the meaning stays dormant
but my feet actualize what the mind is whispering, and then act
knowing the end of existence is the end of dreams, is torment.

So maybe this isn't a good time anymore
tingling feet can't feel the floor
rediscovering as i am uncovering the layers of my existence
i find that this body just might make it that extra distance
that i thought was impossible to get to before
because before i wanted to walk to those shadows
not to that light, see, now i want more
lust for life rekindled, dreams now a juice that overflows...

Melissa Mutch Mar 2012
Distract me now
if only for a few seconds
let this chaos keep kicking up the dust
continue the scattering and never let it settle.
Distract me again
just a couple minutes longer
let pulsing veins feed the beating which is cracking open my heart
the same heart that enclosed you now sets you free.

Distract me Divert me Detour me from this jaded circle I'm Spinning.

Be my decoy.

I've freed you, but who can free me?
now so entangled, so trapped, I forget how to see.
These artist's hands smeared with the shades of shame
This poets dreams only dungeons of deep doubts and disapointments
and I can sense the echo of it's bass in the hollow of my soul
and feel how the erosion of silent suffering has made a shallow hole

Distracted too long
and not even the phoenix song
can raise my spirits from this new-found gravity.
This pressure creates a wave of liquid fire
threatening to burn me with flames to inspire
but without hope, these dreams, these hands, cannot hold what they desire

Hoplessly distracted
and time spent wasted seems exponentially extended.
The spell of worry and hesitation has overcast my mind
letting the gloom sink the sunshine.
Selfishly baiting negativity, I wore a mask. I pretended.

Distract the demon this time,
hold him off as long as you can
to escape his hold on me is my only plan
feed me full of courage, strength and wisdom, I want my belly to ache
and maybe then my voice can make his grip slip and this earth quake.
the ground will shake, this mask will break, opening my senses to the universe that I can make.

Melissa Mutch Mar 2012
A whisper
A spark
A crackle in the dark
A fragment of electricity warming up the wire.
The essence full implodes
Then reloads
And clicks the next bullet in place
Now falling. Screaming. Failing, to fill the void left by your space.
Suicidal lust figured in the expression on your face
Just a coward hiding from destiny
Fear yourself
And that is something that can be tamed with thought
The mind is our universe, not a wild animal,
and yet the theory is paradox
Explore it, search out its mystery, it’s patterns
Control it
and with a thought move Saturn
Out of orbit, out of space, out of mind, just blink and erase.
But the looming threat of neon lights is invading our minds
The mechanical encrusted upon the living
Used and worn definitions
With no room for originality or inspiration
Or in the poet’s case no water or air
And we speed through life, with no acknowledgement of either
Pretending it’s a hyperbole, simile or metaphor
While Artists drowning in paint, poisoned poets drop to the floor
Spinning in cycles like seasons seems pointless
Frustrated with feeling, life is a mess
Slow down and recover
Pull over and wind down the window
And the wind blows softly in your ear
All the things you needed to hear
Were found within
A whisper

Melissa Mutch
Melissa Mutch Mar 2012
Freedom encapsulated,
Wanting to expand in every direction
And let each particle take off
Flying free;
Escaping the meaning of me.

And they say we're free

So anxious for the future
Yet I procrastinate against it
Working backwards into walls;
And here I am waiting for the paper to respond,
The ink to form words from the pores of the page
Swallowing me
Enchanting me
Switching me like a blade
Cutting down and slicing open
In every direction
To free them

Melissa Mutch
Melissa Mutch Mar 2012
The walls are soft, smooth
Almost porcelain, almost perfect
Until my hand runs over an imperfection
A flaw then another, and another.
A ceramic cave encloses me on all sides,
Making the space cramped
And a deep midnight shade of blue.
So in twilight I am entwined
And instead of hearing the ocean,
I feel its reverberation echo in waves
And it’s not liberation I feel
   It’s devotion
    Or just raw emotion
It’s difficult to divide the difference…

Blurring oneiric spaces
I’m not drawing any more, just erasing
Stuck inside this metaphorical shell
It gets tighter as you go further,
Deeper as it winds and coils
Almost like a trachea to the heart.
You can’t survive here.

Now the pulses begin to deafen,
The sand itches the skin
And not only exfoliates but sheds its tough outer layer
I think they call it pride
It’s something everybody hides.

Upon a red flaming dragon she rides
Trying to tame it, control it,
And harness its beauty and strength.
At first she is cautious and gentle, and the creature bows with respect
For granted she abused the tender beast,
Wasted, jaded and scarred
Now it bucks and resists at every command
Waiting for a chance to escape, to be free.

And the ink dries up in the pen before it gets a chance to bleed on a blank page
And leave its imprint in time
The focus is shattered now, paintbrush bristles hard and brittle
Crumbling to ashes as soon as they kiss the paint
The Moist dye ingests the ash which mixes with the poet’s tears
To become a sticky and vengeful monster
That haunts me in my dreams.

In vivid strands, like a dewy spider web
Dreams entangle my mind
And the full moon causes the tide to ebb.
Time is an orange, peel back the rind.

And memories float on the surface of the mist
In the calm before the storm
And explode in bursts of thunder and jagged light.
You shield your eyes and you raise your fist
Hoping that the beast within will soon resist
And with inspiration be reborn
And blast in undulations of a second sight
And together look to the sky, run, and take flight.

Melissa Mutch

— The End —