Something
in my damaged whisper
from within begins to roar
and your secrets
– as I shake –
fly far from where you left them

I watch
vocals shredded
limp and newly sane
as they tumble
– like a silent movie –
into the back pockets
of sweet revenge

I watch in retort
as you blunder
over causeways
of stammering lies,
hurtling weathered blows
from your
mournfully
tarnished
mouth.

The sound alone
asphyxiates me
and I would rather it hurry
than disable my
regal silence
with the screeching noise
of your
thunderously
garbled
deception.

I fear to perish early –
dread my soul be drowned
and led astray.
Deceased
I can’t commit myself
to be the best I can display.
I’d like to grow in wisdom
lest my life be worth its end today.

But with dismay
I grow archaic
resentful of my future fate.
I can’t expire starved and needy –
I want to ‘have’
not live to ‘hate’.

Before the end
I’ll search for more:
another route
a higher state.
Then I can pass
become the past
succumb to death
become sedate.

Desiring this
I’ll set a plan to vanish happy:
die fulfilled.
In a deed
I’ll write these words
consumed with grace –
my burden killed.

I’ll live a life of glory now
enshrined in love
that’s mine to build.
And when my mortal skin is shed
I’ll know it’s something I have willed.

Impale, oh thee, thine words
with burning, slow incisions,
once, and again,
unto death
arrives.

Every second we touch
leads us closer
to separation.

I would rather watch
for there is no end
in sight
to this vision.

The school girls
with the messiest hair
are my daughters

The ones with the
fallen socks
and the untucked shirts

So concerned are they
with getting there
so they can come home later

That nothing but
Armageddon
can stop them in their tracks

burning
these eyes
fear what I see

– incomplete poetry –

a part of you
unfinished
yet alive
becomes lost again

half written
this Frankenesque fate
seals your mystery

locked within
a writer’s typed notes
– and unaware –
I sense you feel
the end
once more
encroaching