The desire to be held
The desire to be left alone
The desire to be loved
The desire to be forgotten
The desire to be alive
The desire to be dead
The desire to be talkative
The desire to be silent
The desire to be home
The desire to be away
The desire for things to change

The desire is what makes me decay
because the desire to fall
is the strongest of them all
and it is just one feeling I can not change

It seemed my mind would rather be preoccupied.

Crushed ice to cool off the burn on my tongue,
heady liqour to sooth the burn in my chest.
Tan lines to replace the once marked skin,
Velvet chokers to replace the pressure,
and new strumming to replace the wailing.

Summer dresses to cover my quivering,
along silver rings to cover the shaking.

Not so unexpectedly I glance a familiar countenance,
so I unravel and everything re-wires.
I'm fighting the studying of coincidences,
but the search is inevitable.

Old tears stain new sheets,
old methods replace new tricks,
and old memories replace new concerns.

Now it seems I haven't put you to bed.
Instead I lie in that bed wondering if you're the same.

Each a different sea,
a sea nonetheless.

The one on your side has a warm embrace.
Mine wraps me up in a cold breeze whispering defeat.

Your beach holds sand to ****** your feet into,
leaving a lasting impression of your skin against its grains.
Mine is a bed of rocks.
Which shoot up cold shivers against my spine that no longer tell lies.

Your bed is soft, lace-wrapped,
skin peaking through.
Mine are cold sheets,
tie me down against an empty mattress.

One solace is firewater that promises softer sleep,
a diluted reality,
and memories miles away.

Long fingers,
cold skin.
Daydreaming of sheathing your sword in my warm ribs.
Rough night, sweat drenched with teeth awaiting a taste.

Bubble-wrapped I wonder if there is a chance.
Tiptoe and steal one last piece of vivaciousness.
Breathe in, smell relief.

It is a wonderful thing, when the willows doze,
at the stillness of a winter breeze.
The season settles, and it never goes,
with the passing dues at ease.

The heart so stale... the dreams so pale...
But she would dance a-still!

She would turn the world around,
and she would would bring the walls to sound,
and she... would run the waters still!

The stalemate arises, all so subtle,
and the wind in willows, hurdled in muddle,
would fly no more, until...
She sings to be, she sings to me...
And then she would cry, and I shall cease to be!

A.r. Bazian
*January 1st, 2017

The sun ripples red through the veils of inevitability
Decay and darkness besets all
When everything we know shall not fall,
but crumble, into oblivion.

We are forgotten.

Still, we see through filth of your disguise.
Your bankruptcies and moral demise.

Oh how peaceful change can be,
If it is attained through conformity!
We are your once lost dream!

The lonesome figurines along your wall,
The distant, wailing familiar call,
And the endless strife for remembrance,
That we may not be strangers to the froths that we are
That we may struggle to come so far, only to fail, unlike you.

And so, by mere virtue of the nuisance that is all other things
We are, among the many things that we are,
Honest, True, Controversial and arguably good,
But, forgotten… dismissed and forlorn.

The children of dismay, whose wills robbed and voices clogged,
Once again, the generations outcast and lost to your pointless device.

Sky is black with rage,
Roars in the familiar sound of thunder,
So strong and bold,
In the heart of the storm.

Just when I saw the wet eye,
noticed the shake in it's hand,
felt the body going backwards,
saw the brightness inside it,

Just when I touched the warm skin,
connected with the speed of blood pumping,
realised the micromovements,
touched inside it,
is when I understood human emotion.

Midnight waves curl around
Your empty face, my stony heart,
Two people sitting on the beach
The roaring surf drowning us with our lies.