Claustrophobic lullabies
collecting in the tear ducts

             He silently exits the chapel.

Her white is transparent of her regrets


He texts:
              *"I'm sorry,

Collecting on the reflections
                          of my actions.

He grows to be a man..

Respect and manners are
gifted to those of closeness...

True gentleman...

Echoes overcast sunrises  
mourning lights evaporation.

A curtain of sorrows collect
                    on the pavement

Deaths
           exhale

exhumed

Poetry is a wrist,
                  weeping.

But the tears do not fall,
for the life ebbing to
                nothingness.

Its for the words elegantly woven
of life that caresses this canvass.

Purity of two shades become more
than was non-existent.
               Live and death serenade.

Till both are still, and the words
       stain the wall.
The readers mind, silent, static

These are the poetic words of life...
           For even though later washed
away,
The stain of that lingers, remains

Loose weavings suffocated
      her breath...
  
That inanimate object of fear.

Glanced her last breath
                      statically smiling....

When you were a form upon the image of
my reflections, I never looked into the mirror
seeing what was fading within the moments of
your fluttering wings silent in the breeze/

I held that last moment like a breath never
wanting to expel the words of what were
needed. I could not sew then on a memory,
as they were already fraying on the sides.

She was but a sunrise a beauty that would
have shined upon you, lighting up those
precious  moments before you were like
a sunset never to rise again.

                                      She misses you mum.  
                                             Nanny she knows your gone...

Our lips like sunsets
        holding on till that
last moment they set..

Releasing from the emotions,
that kept them aloft in motion
                         but as they part.

They await for when they arise,
         motions shine
                        on emotions.
                      eclipsing on another..

Squared not circular
              for everything  

That needing motions of what
              is meant.....

Circle is Neanderthal
           but you can call
                   me old school...

Virtues of society
             are minimum wage.

But we let them sweep,
                brush under...

For the hours that pass
             for us to survive..

Cut the crap
they cleave on
        purity of religion.

Brushing demons
below the cloth of
       purities shelf..

By words, are versed
within atheists words
       I'll take a stand..

Wax is like blood seeping
from the core of my being.

Dare I cut deep within the
crimson till it weeps deeply.

The flame gouges on the body,
gouging on its flavours.

Tears descend until the body is
but pools of what lingered before.

By the water fountain
he lingers hidden from
gazes of others as he is
woeful of his gluttony.

Clambering upon silent
streams that are evaporated
dreams, their  nightmares
are his thirst as he sips slowly.

Fruit may birth from this stream
but he holds back not to let these
waters flow upon the thirsty.
He looks behind with each sip held.

This abandoned monolith of mans
fallen creation, seeds of glass feed
upon the sun. Feeding this abandoned
fountain, secrets are drank slowly..

Woeful of the tides of life my ink
had stuttered on the shores of nothingness


But like the shores they flow many ways
and mine just washed the negativity away


I'm Back......

Herself of infinite possibilities stemming from
that moment...
Drowning within her womb! Never one for reflection,
as those that looked upon the glaring in reflective
gazes where her sisters that were still connected
with her memories.

That which was meant to feed the focus of life wrapped
upon there throats like the hangman's noose.
She looked on hands reaching in the vastness of diluted
life, her screams silent within only her sisters heard her
clamouring  as life was diluted from there figures.

Gazing upon there reflections, no longer a trio of playful
content. two months she was collected in apparitions
that floated around her.. decaying into void reflections.
The silent screams of her sisters lingering through the womb
even though they were gone there cries haunted her.

As she was released the memory faded beyond her innocence,
till age crept upon her skin, and in years that past.
Echoes images of crying babies filled the air, till her eighteenth
and when she gazed into her self she saw herself.
But when descending her sister with opal eyes lingered.

Skin crawled like spiders weaving their thoughts on her
skin, beneath herself things crawled. Videoing herself in
mirrors echoes surfaced like one drowning in nothingness.
And she saw those of her conception reaching forth for warmth.

Looking upon the mirror, the love of those who were echoes
reflected in her absence cried at what was taken before.
A pact was versed for even though there form was lost
a trio of life still lingered within her, from womb till birth.

Now they live a life of echoes each respective of the others
emotions clinging to the shorelines of each consciousness
that washes up. There is a sea shell on the shore but there
is three echoes that live within this moment haunting the
shades of life's passing, never looking at ones own reflection.

I jib my
        thoughts

on the naked page

saturating the purity
                   seeds still damp.

What was pure now violated by contemplations...

My soul is stones
that are descending
                 unhurriedly.

Like feathers clawing
on the tides of my
                      innards.

They are like wishes
never fulfilled,
                       stagnant.

Stones of myself sinking
with age, yearning for more
                            shorelines..

We are the yearning
                   of another,
when we fall silent

We are a circle,
                that has been spun
for a millennia when we fall.

The wows of society
are just trees
           that we wish  
                        to grow
in our wallets

But only
           seeds  
of debt fall
    from its branches

The more
               I look
        in to the darkness.

The more
        it smiles
back.

Can you hear
its song.
        its a lullaby
             of nowhere.

I am rich in wealth,
  but have no coins to
                        buy a meal

I am impoverished in sight,
     but my eyes see everything
                        clearly before me.

We are all of wealth and poverty,
these are not of negativity, for they
are metaphors of our strengths

We are the authors
       of our own pain.

And it writes verses
        that fall as raindrops.



Of our collective
             images, that collectively
   condense as life's imagery.

We are the poison that

             is the venom on

the reality that we live on.


                 But we are the complex
motivations
that makes us grow
                          beyond our
Hatred that makes us grow.


Beyond the anger of
                      our thoughts...

We are all lucid
                   rainbows,

That follow the
path of our own
                     delusions.

Falling like sodden
                               ash.

No longer
                 vivid
but a blanket of
                  falsehoods

My mind is full of static, like a motion of
Black & white snow descending on my
Reflections that are now being secluded
From the other.

Contours of barely visible echoes shudder beneath
The enveloping suffocation that is my own worst
Enemy. Blaming those secluded for the emptiness
Decaying underneath the sheath of nothingness.

I want to see the colour of red and white bleed from
My visual cortex, claiming them as slaves of my
Celled prison that I'm concentrated within.
Bone is stronger than reflections as I just stare within myself

Indulging on the strands of
my reflection regurgitated
in the likeness of your
                                hollowness.

I slumber like the dead.

Awoken my petals rejuvenated,
then you pick them singularly
corroding my strength to a
                                              stem.

I slumber like the dead.

My wings open as you pluck
my flight of freedom, grounding
me to the realization I'm
                                           forsaken.

I slumber like the dead,
but I'm always reborn.

My demons try to pick
apart my inner beauty.

My demons try to suffocate
my outward reflection of self.

But as long as I slumber, I rise
like a new sunrise. I may set,
but each days anew, and I will
never slumber to my demons.

Everyone thinks! but are of politeness,
but then you have those few eggs spoilt.

Got to thinking there's is bigger,
but when others view, smirking quietly.

O**ver reaching there efforts of
superiority, but I just walk smiling on.

Collecting tears that fail
                 to materialize,

Instead I smile with
                 unused frowns.

Emotions spilt like milk
                 I drink deeply

And I just carry on and on...

I could do tricks with those fingers
balancing acts of precision breath
was controlled for this moment.

One false move, and that moment lost,
sighs were heard, head shamefully hung.
As I would have to start over once again.

"OK fingers don't fail me now, I rotated  
getting a rhyme, I heard the excitement
as she released her ecstasy on fingers.

I was her fidget spinner, fingers fine
tuned to do those tricks to make her
world spin, she fidgeted in ecstasy.

She was an eclipse setting on the
every moment of her life.
An echo of her past present and..
not knowing what was before her.

A repetition of what lingered within
her repeating's. also needing to cradle
in the moments of birth like innocence
she arose fresh from the traumas of yesterday.

But like each dawn she was scarred by the
repetitions of what predated this awakening.
Always feeling the echoes, the faded memories
of before. But each time rose like a sunrise, strong.

I'm in a tunnel of delusion I'm not breathing
In a world of exhalation.
I'm covered in a tomb of words that I'm
suffocating in, dry drowning of false reflections
that my hands are corrupted upon.

When your with me I'm swimming in the euphoria
of moments, but when I'm careless I don't heed
the warning of your eyes. I  paddle into the moments
of forever not realizing I'm past that point of life.
I drown in the failings of life and float saddened & motionless.

Even in death,
          your last words
were cremated within you.

Like a whispers
                    in a jar
rotting in your lungs.

Words were maggots
             eating away within
                         yearning for release.

Antiquities of yesteryear  
locked behind with  
                         no keyhole.

Hallways of possibilities
stretch forth, new doors
                       painted fresh open

Uncluttered, painting new memories inside.

Silence is louder
but more subtle,
    
               for the answers

are seen more than spoken.

Death is reality,
  life is the dream.

We wake upon
     our last breath..

But die in the reality
       we slept through life.

Carbonated shimmers are
luminous on the taste buds
of sight, I drink deeply.

The bubbles of creation make
my perspective intoxicated,
Inhaling every sheen tasting deeply.

Not realizing some have exhausted
there lingering seethe. Tastes had
died longer before I tasted upon them.

Tattered souls congealed, paintings on  purgatories
skyline, never are they falling just lingering.

Stitched with blunt needles, there tears shine on those
in gorged  form. Saturating other within their afflictions.

Tearing upon hollow forms they evaporate like reversed
snow flakes corrupted, they fuse regrettably with the skyline.

Others look upon there regrettable existence, and see
the clouds of their meaning, its only a matter on time.

There was a rainbow of droplets
collecting momentarily in air.
So much beauty in discomfort,
not mine that of another, dead.

He was on the gravel, in a sorrowful
position, he was and then was less.
his thoughts collecting on the further
reaches of the rooms décor.

I didn't want to play the role of the
villain, I was the mercy he had needed.
Fading like a flower transparent of
colour himself fading to nothingness.

I was but a consequence his hand was
on the point of no return. I said
"I'll do it from behind so you don't see,
But his head nodded in haste, as tears fell.

I hadn't take a sip all week, I just knelt
before him his finger painting a vivid
moment of thought, captured later in
solidifying crimson metaphors.

We sat there for what seemed eternity.
Stars had faded in the time of these moments
extinguished within his tears, he spoke on word.
"Thank you, an echo then silence, I walked away.

Origami sails migrate on the
                        waves of breath,  
motions sway its heading.

a voyage of whispers not
                    collected upon,
Motions are collectively wavering

Shores are never attained for
                              flurries fail,
and it sinks crumpled below.

Barren raindrops cultivated
             desolate eclipse's
that over shadowed her.

A thousand seeds fell
                  like snow
evaporating before growth.

Her fields were barren
                  and her tears
                          sorrowful.

A collage of used thoughts forcibly
moulded without my consent.

Their immunity of past repetitions
never wiping away.

I'm a shadow of there past, that
will urinate on there passing

Forgiveness isn't in their vocabulary,    
I'm a collage of pain.

The amount of
                      ****-you
messages I rhyme to those unworthy

Of simplistic syllables , that cant picture
                      METPAHORS

Linguistically etched verses that mean
                      MORE THAN WORDS..

I'll bury those of unused wordings, disabled in
                     VERSE, CLING TO LAME VERSES....

We engaged the engines, collected
the imagery of this place to further
our understanding of a vast pool.

Then we jumped, like a motion of
splashing down ripples silently
unseen fading into the distance.

We saw reflections of ourselves,
of our past, of what maybe our
downfall. We were like pebbles.

Sinking deep within the ocean
of raindrops, we were a grain
in the universe of stones.

We were called puddle jumpers,
splashing down on waters of
the unending universe.

Dying for our sins, was the metaphor,
but was it as it seems?
for if he died for those would one stay
dead not rise three days later it seems .

A bad hangover of consciousness.
were sins only forgiven for a weekend
maybe +1. Were we misled that he passed
but was just drinking holy wine in his cave crib.

If one was to be born to die for us, to die for
us, then why was it just a weekend gig?
Your sins aren't forgiven for he lived,
misinterpreted it was just a 3 day weekend.

Dead petals collect in the shallow sockets
vacant for eternity,the fragrance scratches
beneath the decaying waves of nothingness

Feathers scar every reflection, wordings
distorted in finite scratches barley visible
but lacerating deeper than thoughts hanging.

In my veins twilight and luminosity were
dangling from my fingertips scratching them
till fingertips bled radiantly, fading to disillusion.

I was a cloud of confusion, raining shards of
insecurity inwards. Convulsing with each kiss
of positivity that was riveted in my empty skull.

I'm a mirage of imagery, my smiles hanging on
meat hooks, my hello's, how are you. A collection
of stapled wordings, I'm dead inside, a shadow walking.