No longer of use,
The static colliding,
The past in recluse
In the attic, residing

Colors rot in the dust
Pictures die in the silence,
As corpses make fust
And complain under pileus.

The mycelium harvest,
In boredom, they thrive.
And much like the artist
Through flesh, their roots rive.

A place where ghosts and ghoul like to screech,
A place where even the flies couldn’t reach.

on fragrant morn a
corpse lies among the tall grass
the war has ended




haiku 24/9/15

on fragrant morn the
corpse lies among springs tall grass
war has not ended

i got a paper cut
and i picked at it
until its corpse
become a permanent headstone
on my skin.

you hurt me,
and i picked at it
until it began to scar,
until it began to
tighten the skin.

i will never be able to escape the ache of you.
never be able to revive myself.
or be able to relieve the pain of the skin pulling.

but i will always try to heal it,
even if it is no use.

Enjoy little things in life
While you can
Before ended by Death's knife
Interrupting plan

I used to hide all day
Escaping problems that pursued
Leaving behind obstacles in my way
I am the one surroundings exclude

There is no shortcut to happiness
On this earth tread upon
We pass on a great big mess
To bury after you're gone

I will claw through tunnels
Until I find rightful place
Help you with your struggles
Cradled in my embrace

Until my wick rekindles yours
Reanimates you
Makes heart pound
Will crawl through soil and explore
Dig you out from the ground

The tomb intended for me instead
Buried you to save my soul
To end madness in my head
Dying
Thoughts swallowing whole

I walk this road of ruptured dreams
Softness fading from fingertips
Savoring warm remnants of bright sunbeams
Light out of my grasp slowly slips

I can see it
Just as the day I arrived
November leaves decorating freshly dug soil
Fluttering down onto a tombstone
From bright and vivid
To crumbling and dead
Someday I’ll die
The thought is so strange to have in my skull
Wrapped around a case of pink fleshy synapses
Everyone dies
I see it around me
From behind tempered glass and blurry corneas
“I’m sorry”s from a chapped and dull mouth
To every lover of a lifeless corpse
Dressed in silk and lace
Skin so pale it glows with false rejuvenation
When I die
I want to be buried in rosewood
My coffin filled with petals and bluebell skeletons
So that when I am unearthed
I am covered in the rancid stink of rot
That is not just my own
Larvae birthed in my hollow womb
Giving life to the cycle of death
When you die
I will not be far
Whether I am young or old
I don’t think I could take
Thinking about your beautiful corpse
All alone, in the desolate dirt
Decaying
Deteriorating
Destroyed
By undeserving maggots and writhing ****
Feasting on glorious flesh
Never to know how precious it once was

Even with a thousand heads and souls around me,
The thought of loneliness always resided with me
I did not intend to fit in everyone's sizes,
Nor was I proud of the bottle that shook with rage, ready to spill
My life disintegrates within a flash of a solution
I present myself and my energy to a dull audience
But the same smiles just stare speechless, gawking at me

I paraded willfully, expressing myself through art that was repulsive to many
Yet, there were a few eyes that presented a beacon, despite my addictions crumbling the floor beneath me
I reached out and touched the flames that singed my hair
Till I landed on flowers
They were not the gorgeous type,
But they were just like me:
Odd, beautiful, deterring, and tiresome.

One of them shared a joke about death,
It forced a laugh out of me, till I realized today was April Fools' Day
A skull-shaped bud cries in front of me, similar to that of a child
I take in the smell of the hole I've fallen in, though the fall was cushioned by giant red flowers
As pretty as they are, their smell is who I am
I look above and see a crucifix in the sky
Then the darkness falls in, and I accept the undeniable truth by closing my eyes.

The first step is
Radical honesty
With ourselves

We don't intervene
We invade

That's not
"Collateral damage"
Those are
The corpses
Of children
And their parents

Ours is not defense
Ours is war