And he set the world on fire...
A futile attempt to revive her long deceased smile
His eyes more manic, more frantic, as the flames grew higher
Embers danced through the sky to the song of the crackling orange and yellow hues
Yet, as more and more ash filled the sky,
Her pale, porcelain, face remained blank
Her eyes remained in the same melancholy, empty, gaze
For her smile perished long ago
His fruitless efforts could never bring it back to life

Something once had sat upon, no- clinged to, my mind
Gripping and clawing
until I would cry

Remember, remember

But who or what was it?
coming to question this
Previously making myself believe
it does not exist

Remember, remember

That print on a page
that error the same
My hearing isn’t working
I am deaf to that name

Remember, remember
What Tom-foolery is this?

Remember, remember
He no longer exists

To me.

Sterile…by Jessie 8/05

There isn’t much in a sterile life
There is no color, the walls are white

The floors are cold, on my feet
There is no flavor to the food I eat

The only smell, is of alcohol
In this sterile life

People come and people go
None of them really want to know

What it’s like to live in a sterile life

They look at you with big blank stares
Don’t get close, don’t you dare

Contaminate this sterile life

Not much to do but sit and think
Hours go by and I never blink

Time is slow in a sterile life

Wipe things down, one more time
Make them sparkle make them shine

No room for germs in a sterile life

Well… day goes by and night will fall
No excitement here at all

It’s just a sterile life

It gets sunny, if you let it in
But then why bother, you think again
It will only ruin a perfectly good sterile day

Don’t try to love don’t try to hate
You’re living in a sterile state

There really isn’t much in a sterile life

This is a poem about
how I can no longer
write poems
like I used to.

The colours are all
drained.
The pen is left
with no ink.
The paper, empty
blank.

What's the meaning of life?
To breathe, to love,
to write?
Why is there this emptiness;
why the lack?

When will my inspiration
come back

to me?

INT - JULIAS' HOUSE - THE BLANK ROOM - AUTUMN EVENING

Pick teeth in maw
shuttering ;
I imagine you
Minotaur

You mail me voices
you unmend each night
I clothe the window
but you are brighter
you fill

I replenished your alter
re-burdened the sill
new meats from the Butcher
it's quite an arrangement
for a carnival such as yourself

A fortunes soil of gutting
it's the best I'm willing to offer
a meal
a wealth
so here it is
a tilt to your health
I back out of the room
I close the light
blackout
                                                  ­         CUT TO :

ANOTHER DAY - WORLD AT PLIGHT

I dress up my morning
and enter the room
a tiding,
a horror,
a vacuum !

You have scatted and cast
and made gore of my gift ;
made rent and wipings of the curtains
made leavings off of an ill stomach

What can I give you ?
how much more ?
how may I appease you
my Minotaur ?

i’ve been thinking about
how to fill this
blank space,
to fill this
missing piece,
to fill this
hole in my soul
in my heart,
to fill this
tear in my heart
to finally mend this poor soul

but,
how can i feel these spaces
these empty holes
these emptiness in my
heart
if you,
your face,
your eyes,
your lips,
your smile,
your back,
your laugh,
the softness of your hair
and the cold spot beside me
in the bed
are the only thing i can
think about?