Some people are into strange, really into it.

So I had my fair share of spikers, the kind that are into strange.

They thought of Me as a tool, a new territory, waiting to be harnessed.

The go to guy for weirdly scrambling.

I longed for someone, someone to touch and to call my own; someone who won't leave me.

I didn't realize I was conjuring up exactly what I wanted,

a disaster, a high magnitude tsunami waiting to sweep through my life.

Waiting to wash away all that remained (all that I held) dear.

A tsunami that would ruin us all.





It certainly occurs,

taking with it, souls uncountable.

Insignificant to the whole, irreplaceable and heart wrenching to the few.

The result of my wistful wishing,

a dead black cloud hangs above, heavy and misty.

A waiting jar about to pour out its contents, be they bitter or sweet it knows not.

Funny, as the hearse walks me to my resting place, all I see is black, bleak and dark.



I tarry by the corner, listening to the waves splash with a whiplash against the rocks,

I look down to see how the people I knew are faring without me.

There are tea parties and a lot of ambience.

As my flesh lays there, clothed but bare to the coffin's hard-feel;

too cold to feel these things I felt,

too dead to even take notice of the crickets squeaking just above my grave,

the incessant annoying whispers of the nocturnal dwellers, shallow and loud,

alive in the moonlight,

I wonder how anyone could ever rest in peace.

black or white, the ideology is often grey!
lost or abandoned, chosen or forgotten,
runner or drag-racer,
the empty bucket,
the data forms,
the Pyreness of their love;
the cry of an unbroken heart;
the little laughter of an innocent one,
perception abound, intelligence incorruptible
gentility, a mistaken identity.
the roaming panda, the separation that is youth.
it's both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply.
time makes more converts than reason;
and the children suffer the wrathful inklings.

So this is my story -
My life's tale.
I am a strewn, temporary divorce seeker;
Fierce when the missus asks for a penny,
Silent when she sets food on the table.
In the winter, I complain about the cold
But in the summer, I complain about the heat.
When the missus asks that the leaking roof be fixed,
I simply laugh and set out to mock her every action.
But this spring, pneumonia has caught up with me.
The room is flooded, the mosquitos are livid and the fleas are my most loyal acquaintances-
Asleep while I'm awake, awake and ******* fast away at my blood while I'm asleep.
The missus has left me.
I am no longer a temporary divorce seeker.
I am a sad, lonely, bitter nobody.
To keep the tears away, I lay directly under the dripping roof.
As the rain washes away unending flowing tears,
I become aware of my condition.
Condemned to hades, long dead by the pages undone,
My only hope is that it be without the cruelty that is rain and spring over there.

I had to leave you
So I could prove to myself that I can be a go-getter.
I made something of myself and it doesn't seem to sit well with you.
You're drinking with my enemies and telling tales of my little beginnings like they're yours to sell.


I could have stayed and let you ruin me,
I should have stayed and masturbated while you watched and spoke to your other lovers on the phone.
I would have stayed and let you keep feeding me,
But I'm a very proud fabric,
Softeners can never weaken my fibers.


I could have stayed and been unable to write this message to you;
I could have pegged my life a repeated error-message and decided to give up;
But I realized that you desperately wanted me to do so,
So I walked away broken so you could have your happy ending.

"I await a guardian."
Shrouded forms who wrench and weave the hidden things I can't percieve,
into twisted thoughts of rage and woe
which drag me through the flames below.
"I await a guardian."
Bony fingers who clench.
Macabre lips who **** to kiss.
Weapons of hunger, instruments of fear...
"I await a guardian."
Joy becomes a distant memory,
replaced with bells that clang and roar.
The light has passed the spectrum,
fading to a shade of emptiness.
Kneeling in the dirt with
hands across my face; demons mistlike in their flight embrace my sorrow,
their sweet delight.
"I await a guardian."
All I need, is hopelessly gone.
All I need is hope... gone.
All I need is hope.
All I need... hope.
I need hope.
...hope.
HOPE.
What brightness in brilliance through such confines of the black. Shadows cannot hide when you shine like the sun.
The brazen bells have silenced and the mist is all but clear, scattered in the lucent are abandoned tools of fear.
"I await a guardian?"
I have become the guardian.