I can remember when sleeping was always pleasant.

It was alleviating my burning heels and loosening my straining eyes, looking forward to crystal dreams, transforming myself into a new dimension every night.

Sleeping was my superpower; it was absolute blackness that created a story from nothing, always making me smile in the yellowing morning.

Tonight, a clean slate just seems frightening.

I have no control over this superpower. It is confusing my sense of presence, swallowing me whole and inverting my perception, and injecting evil into my veins, awakening new sides of me.

I'm hoping the moon stays away tonight.

I can't breathe.

This vacuous hole
starved for oxygen
the scavenger of the stars
who found solace
who took up residence
at the center of my chest
sinking its barbed claws
into the warm, moist
flesh pressed against
my ribcage.

His yawning roar reverberates
off the walls of the prison of ribs
screams pregnant with
vitriolic shrapnel to
cut through bone
and vaporize to dust
my hijacked heart
pumping out thick
poison to necrotize
every living cell
who respires to
bring life to my
corporeal form.

How could I have hated
that vessel
who carried me and
nestled my vulnerable
essence in its walls
and surrendered to my will
to be the vehicle of
my humanity?

How could I not worship
the body who
bent itself to my will
and endured the torture
the wild ride to hell
tempting fate?

Now my body is not my own
and the black hole
consumes every piece
making up my
disjointed mosaic
taking my features one by one
until all that remains is a face
that he's sanded to
blank flesh.

Now I am in ruins
and my frescos are
bowing to the regal
procession of time.

I was there when the atom bomb
vaporized a city
and burned flesh until all
that remained was a charred
silhouette
without face
without name.

I'm a bird in flight
through acid rain clouds
I am a woman without country
crash landed
from beyond the stars.

I have seen the edge
of time and the cosmos
and stood on the ledge
to contemplate the exploding
yawning abyss before me
a multiverse to transcend
the geological primitive
the infantile blue planet
locked in its calculated dance
with the sun
where I must constantly fight
gravity as it weighs me down
and ensnares me with its human
chains to tether me to the
terrestrial soil
whose corpse-fed worms
are more relatable.

Their whispers are songs
which hold the secrets
taken to the grave.

An alien wouldn't be so obvious.

You can taste
the psychosis on my
lips but there's no
guarantee that I will feel it.
There's an umbilical chord
holding me down to ***** reality
and depending on my
perspective
it either looks like a
dog leash or a
noose.

Inject a sedative with a rusty
needle at the end of my
nervous system. I'm immune; there's
misery mixed in with my
white blood cells that swallows
all sense of introspection. When my
soul plummets down like an anchor
and the floating stops
feeling safe, I welcome the chest
pains with open arms. The pins and
needles in my lungs are better
than burning them.

Look through my eyes
and sometimes nothing is real.
Live through my heart and
it hurts like hell when
I'm not drowning in air.
Think with my head and
either you will want to get out,
or it will kick you out.

arms rip away at this skeletal heart without question:
a useless muscle that means nothing to me if i can't hold you.

open up your eyes, beloved.
just because i'm dead doesn’t mean
i can’t love you in this bed
during the night.

for today imagine that this is mutual.
that i am not a ghost and you are not
bound to sunsets with men that don’t
share my exact eye color.

let me lie to you. explain that i don't
******* to shadows ******* anymore,
cross my heart and hope to die.
(i hope you remember that
a heart can beat and still
long for grave-sites).

i know this isn’t a coffin
because i am burning
and you are always here at my side.

pull me up from this
necrophiliac-night-club
and we'll go on

as if you've never found those
maggots in my sock drawer.

i promise.

she is no longer human
writhing, shouting, feeling
human
past

i look at her and i see paint
windswept hair sticking to muddied lips
flushed cheeks over pale skin
gilded lids
blink

she is canvas
heavy and sagging
brushstrokes
this way and that
covered

i listen to her and i hear nothing
swirling silence
surrounding stereo sound
breathing into doubting ears
hidden

she is no longer awake
swimming, sighing
through cold water
rough, splintered waves of memory
slap her briefly
before the current pulls her under again
and the rocks onshore call out
faintly
to her floating body
as she lies beneath a blue sky
and lets the water move her downstream
life waves weakly from the bridge
ignored

the mirror tells me i am human
unpainted
loud and awake
but she recognizes the lies
she has learned
to ignore them

cheap wine tides me over
as i go against the grain, walk along the side
of the train tracks
and wish i was brave enough
                                          to stride down the middle
wish i was brave enough to admit out loud
that i’d love to just stand there
embrace the black coal smoke with open arms
breathe it in
and never exhale again

and i don’t mean that in a suicidal way
                                                         (i swear)
i just mean the thought crosses my mind
too often not to mean something

there’s probably a word for this feeling
but i’ve got nobody to tell it to

I go to public places to be alone...

I sit amongst the crowds,
listen in to their instigating alluring words,
Exhaust myself with the false pretense of social-comfort
And think about death.
As it has always been and how it will always be-
More potent than human interest, temptation, enticement or fulfillment.
In the depths of these crowds I surround myself with
The culture of the unconscious.
Nothing has ever mattered but the collected cognizance of
The fact that no human being has the internal ability to become immortal-
And nobody who belongs to the crowds worries about that. As,
To be comfortably existent means to be uninformed about your own
Insignificance.
When I am aware of my own body I am more afraid than when I am not.
I watch myself from a blackening screen,
as I destroy what I was born into until it becomes
A habit instilled within both perspectives.
I let the crowds ruin me with glances and words and drunken love
That they will not remember.
I exist as a vessel, and let the pain of my future determine the pain of
My present.
I seek to hide within the dark of a night like this that has experienced my absence and enjoyed it but,
Their glances make me feel so present...

..I can only hide within myself
by pretending that I am outside of myself..
Watching from a blackening screen...

When Daniel said
"Russian Roulette"

"Russian Roulette"
Is exactly what Daniel meant

If only somebody had have warned all of us

Sorry