Breathe.

Settle yourself.

Try to understand.

We were meant to love.

And if we can not love, then we were meant to try to love.

And failing that we were made to breathe.

And try again.



-Sean Critchfield

I am the disappeared
my name spoken no more
by the tongues of zealous lovers.
I will not weep as my eyes look upon my banished heart
nor will I revel in it's decay
I will only mourn that time in it's passing is not as brief as your passion for my smile.

I've been to that place.
The place of the unknown,
where I've been so ripped,
I can't remember a thing.
And pondering what got me there,
I haven't a clue.
Was it pain.
Was it joy.
It certainly wasn't the taste
of rotgut whiskey.
That liquid burns your throat
& makes your face contort
to forget things.
And who would want
to forget happiness?
But it did.

We shot pool that night
for what seemed like generations.
This old bearded veteran and me,
a young buck,
dropped eight *****
into side pockets
and chugged multiple pitchers
of the high life.
He said he had some killer *****
out in his beetle,
so we took a break,
cruised out into the cool evening
under a sky full of pretty little stars.
Well he was right,
after two or three hits,
I wanted to choke the ever living ****
right out of him.
I never had a guy say
he wanted me
to lay on top of him
like that.
I never expected that request
from a guy
with devil tattoos
running down
each arm.
I thought to myself,
that's what sweet lovers do.
That was some weird ****.
Needless to say,
I lived up to my nickname Flash.
I never saw that **** again.
I was gone in an instant,
jet-stream quick.

I FLOat into NOthing
drifting from place to place
LOSt

I am brittle, not broken.

I am fragile, yet stronger than any part of me that ever begged for mercy from the sweet darkness that inhabits my silent hours.

My diagnosis will not define me. It is but a drop in the oceans of love that swell and ebb behind my vacant stare.

My mind may be tainted, it will often descend into darkness but it ascends to the light with such glorious grace that I am grateful for the duality.

I sometimes hold on too tightly as I quake amongst dreams of letting go.  White knuckles and curled fingers cling to the void that becomes my existence as my dark companion enters without pause or invitation and dances through my day with numbing ease. 

Today I will refuse to follow.

Twilight's melody rises
mournfully dressed in lilac hues 
she grieves for the glory of the primrose sun.

The rise and fall of waltzing starlings
mirror the final breaths of the day
as with glorious mirth they beckon to the silvered chill of the moon.

Its chimes like a lullaby, one
Ancient, cursed. In the soothing
Moments the horror sings out.

Never is it wound up, the lid
Opens a jar, a sensation of
Serenity, to those allured  
By its corrupted song.

Old wood opens as a blackened figure
A wisp of old reaches forth. The music
Plays, soothing on the sense, but all
Is about to change.

Each note lunges in the mind, each
Corroded note, changes thoughts
Of kind, serenity is morphed into
This altered state of mind .

It doesn't matter child, woman
Man, all who hear this ancient
Lullaby cursed upon man and soul.

Object in hand, nothing else is  
Heard only that the music is
Everything, it whispers on Skin,
Bone and mind.

Each drop of blood is a note,
Each scream is but chorus in
This Lullaby of death. It
Gently fills the air with its
Soothing intentions.

The lullaby will never end, the
Figure a wisp upon a stand,
Bows to the audience of blood,
And slowly closes its lullaby of
Death. It has once again sang its
Song, and all is silence once more.