I don't know your story, I've never read
a paragraph of you life..
                    I'll not lie I don't know when

your life became a doodle circling around
                                                despair.

But I've been through things you've never
                 wrote about.
  
                                              But I'm still here.

Don't think that a page will never turn,
              that a paragraph became a sentence
                 then a singular word


                                                           END....

I cant hold you I've never even met you.
              But if I just listen to your voice
its cutting me inside.
          but I'm here for you, a voice shining
in the dark places where your own voice
                                         had deafened you.

We can talk for as long as you want.

                         please insert coins in..
                         this call will end in
                                6.
                                   5.
                                     4.
                                     3.2.1.....

Then your gone..

But I redial and I hear the tears circle the
                  phone cord, tightly grasping around your
                                                              vocal cords.


I'm here for you, ill stay till the silence isn't so profound
         when your  voice inside isn't so loud.

Just sleep on it after weve talked.
            No your not alone, after I'm gone
                      talk to a friend, realise that they'll
be a brick in the wall to hold you up,
                                                          not to crumble.

Remember that I'm hear, now lets just talk.

Chants in droning, layered voices
spin around me as the portal whips and swirls.

Vision leaves for blindness, then
returns again in purple tunnels, bending, twisting.

My mind appeals to enlightened reason
as a pain begins to escalate.

Somehow, I know the feeling coming,
and this one, I do not want to come.

My feathers and my skin, then reject
my body in its whole. I feel it peel away.

There's nothing but death ahead.
A right angle to admire in flight.

Falling, free, yet truly contained for the first time.
What's left? An ending far past my feeling's edge.
Beyond all comprehension --

Why would I strive for gains in paper and credit,
when breaking the boundaries means I may well
never know human contact, again?

From the womb, I've squeezed from a trigger pull.
I'm a representation of cyclical self destruction,
until I lose my velocity to life.

Where's my beholden, blue light ignited soul?
A siren throat is bone dry, floating on the ocean,
hopelessly croaking the notes.

Would any human ever ignore their good senses
just to commit to an abomination, who is sin
simply in their existence?

There's nothing but death on the horizon.
A right angle to admire in descent.

Raise the flag!
The lucky lost
fighting waves of inky stars.

Sleepless soldiers
on silent streets,
waging war on the wild and wistful.

Fall in line,
learn our song!
These ragged ranks have room for all.

So long as dreams ne'er come
and nightmares run,
we will whisper our violent lullabies.

poets,
come to me,
let's reach the purity of divine,
your spirit to bloom for eternal joy and wisdom,
come catch my hand,
let's fly beyond the earthly veils of time.

I will not be sleepy
until you're emotionally stable enough to hang up;
I promise.

What a vicious punk --
I'm pretty sure he lies about his age.
What's with the bow and ponytail?
Desert skin curtained by auburn,
socketed with emerald eyes.
Who does he think he's fooling?

What a deplorable. . .
I'm pretty sure his skill with a sword
is comparable to beginners.
Pillow lips protect a silver tongue.
While we work, he's in the taverns,
playing at conversation.

What a queer young man --
Even back on Jalima he ruffled
feathers on the goodly wings.
I wouldn't trust a man who would
speak, over choosing violence.
Who does he think he's fooling?

There she rests,
better yet,
her life's leaking.
She, the broken winged
being of a chemical bath,
never meant
to last long,
ponders her past when

violet light spears out of the black
night in a radial burst, orbs
of blue, white, and pink,
dance in collusion,

and calls her, as she's called to doom,
so many before her.

Within the oval shape casting there,
she beheld blood somewhere else,
pumping through gates,
coursing through veins.

With a muster of her final strength,
she fell from the rock and into the waters.
Pulling and pulling,
closer and closer.