In the commotion,

police officers salute --


in all directions.

Textbooks in a heap,

the pages held together --


by dog-ears only.

desire and fear
passion and abomination
intertwined -- such is the chaos
smothering my mind

the throes of terror
and sickly melancholy
torment me...

haunting and creeping
the only reality
in this stillness

I am a goodness without its wings
I am evil without its fangs

To myself
I'm an enigma

there’s a living reality of
fallibly hopeful distraction—
sheltered squatters—
residing above a room where
everything important is angry,
not easily suffocated.
the warm polyester of a busy mind
is sick with monotonous fear
that the residents below
will expand their decay,
raging in a panic until the walls collapse
and the nails in the floorboards are
upturned and weaponized;
a clever, persistent enemy.
this unbearably,
infallibly hopeless
struggle.
there are paintings on the walls
and books on the shelf,
plants on the windowsill in the late afternoon.
i’m worried these will die too.

I am HAPPY -
Through chaos betwixt upon me;

Rain shall fall - and;
Flowers may wilt - from;
Fields damasked in blood,
As tears of my toil.

Debt knocking upon my door,
Whispers haunting my floor;

Terrors hail from the sky,
Loneliness hung to dry;

But I am Happy,
Prithee, can't you see?

my hands tremble on paper,
the sharp pencil crisply glides,
across sheets spread out on the table.
my feelings are laid bare,
dispossessed of the weapons.
history is written in the past.
so why am i worried about the future?
ink laid bare across battlefields of corpses.
these documents have split apart lives,
memories and hopes.
i bury all hopes of being happy in this world.
because what i want must not be confused with what i must feel.
so i hide behind these words,
writing thousands of pages, scrolling past ages and ages of sacrifice.
to only end up
saying nothing at all.
d
  o
     n
         o
            t
          h
       i
    d
e

it all goes dark
when the shroud of the night
covers the earth: darkness, no light
as all the others close their eyes
their minds shut down, the air goes quiet

but the blinding fluorescence in my room
outshines the window, I see no moon
it only reflects me, my room: chaos and doom
the voices scream louder as I try to give up too soon

nightly divinity calls to me - soft - siren - lullabies - to sleep
but the eyelids, trapped open, within them my eyes weep
with each passing breath, the screeching voices cut deep -

my cheeks grow wetter while the stars glow dimmer
those dead eyes close, right before the sun's first shimmer.

Summer fell in pale midnight
With ice crystals answering the nomads plight
When silence fell on deafened ears
A heart was impaled by ruby spears

A kingdom of dust with castles of bone
Risen amidst ruins of blackened stone
Demons falling from heavens high
Weeping at their brother's sight

Then golden blood streamed and flowed
In rivers where kings fearfully bowed
A giant struck by lightning's blaze
Glimmering in his flaming haze

Burning, burning, he slowly dances away
And a knight in the armour of dragons to slay
Hunted by wolves with greenish gaze
Is desperately searching for a safe place

Fairies of burns float through the air
Surrounding the phoenix's heir
Golden diamonds grow out the trees
And scatter in the ashy black breeze.

A king atop his throne of wood
Laughing madly about his brotherhood
Oblivious of the strange smoke
Rising from his burning choke

His nose burns away, he no longer smells
So he doesn't know about his hollow shell.
War after war ravages his beautiful lands
Waged by his corpse's stiff, dead hands

A bird flies in the mountain's halls
Trapped by it's stony walls
A cage, a cage, his voice bides
A cage safe from the demonic tides

The serpent's fang bitten in a hero's knee
Who lost his valour and tried to flee
Justice is carried out only by death
And in this world, there's no longer breath

Amidst it all, a young man stands
Looking at his icy flames
A smile stealing upon his face
Behold!, This is the madman's grace

My life pressed like those perfect folded sheets. Married in steam and good intentions of having life together.

Of course, that always starts with making your bed in the morning and filling the days with things you ought to do.

I'd spent my whole life trying to be this person....

I can't but help miss the stain on my coffee table and my linen sheets sprawled across my floor waiting for my return.

The chaos in my life felt like a harmony of bethovan's seventh symphony. A beautiful orchestrarted master piece I could only make the sense of.

I was an absolutist. Completely content with the messiness of it all. Entirely captivated by the beauty and desire with urge to succumb to it all.

The unequivocal grounding of not giving a **** at all if at least felt good.

I can't help but wonder if the person I'm unbecoming is the person I should be saving.