I need to go to a burning man. I need to lose myself in the woods for a year. I need to make my threshold and enter through. I heard my call a long time ago but I just never...
   I can't stand myself any longer! I must lose who I am to find what I am to become. And I can't do that in a world where I exist in everyone around me. I need a place with none of me and plenty of else. So much that I can spread myself out to one thought thick. Finally be raw, enough to see myself clearly.

   I shouldn't worry about forevers, because forevers are simply composed of nows.

   I want quiet place to sit against the tree, look out over a lake, and read until my eyes bleed pleasure, my brain secretes knowledge, and my heart wisdom.
   A place to harbor a gentle haze of mind, a place to leave myself behind. Just and think and think some more, until and passed the point of being head sore.
   I want to place with plenty of glasses, and plenty of cracks, plenty of muses and no ways back.
   A place full of forevernows and nevermores, where people are stupid enough to cross the desert because of a recurring dream. A place of pink purple sunsets and endless shores.

   How mirrors have learned to lie I will never know, because I don't recognize the person they show. I have to turn them around because even my own eyes try to deceive me.

  If I don't I will always want to. If I do I won't enjoy every step, but I will a few.
   The hands that shaped this road are now, older.
   I don't know how I will, and a not even sure I understand why I will. All I know for certain is I MUST.

   Because I can't stay here. If I do I will fall in love with possibilities, and not realities. I will fall in making people out to be more than a person. I will lose my heart to and afterimage of a dream, and even if I do I would never have pursued it anyways. I want to leave the field, sell my flock, and start my full circle, or square.
   Wherever I go I have no plan know method know fall backs, but the beautiful hair of uncut graves. With only the Spektor inside my books to hold me.
   I want to hear the symphony of stars each night and have the wind tell me its stories of its travels that day.
   I want to sleep knowing the poppies stand guard.
  
   I know nothing, and I'm ready to listen, but first I must get out of my hand made prison, burn the map smashed of compass. Put my feet anywhere besides in front of the other that way I'm going nowhere fast and never looking back.

   I want to teach myself the song of my soul, so that I can hum every bar by heart, but I can't do that here. Not in this place of paper people and towns who live their lives never getting wet.

   It says if I can ever catch my breath, that I'm strangle lading in the stench of mold and excitement of leaving and never coming back.

   Mark here this day, as I lie awake at night as the last moment I spent outside the labyrinth. I need, no, I must leave find a place where I can listen to my heart and drink and its wisdom. But that place is not here I don't know where to, but I must start.
   Thomas Edison last words were " its very beautiful over there, I don't know where they're is, but I believe it somewhere, & I hope it's beautiful"

                                                     ­     ~Crow

it is always nights like this, where everything is so quiet you can hear beneath the absolute threshold, when i begin to wonder if i am going mad. technically, if one were truly losing their mind, they wouldn’t take much notice to the clarification that their reality is nothing but intricate lies spun by their brain.

pushing onwards within the dark, i can feel it. a whisper of a dance in memory slices gracefully across my cheek. the hungry caress of a lost lover. it is a random number between three and four, counting the days of sleepless solitude; as my lover is playing tricks on me.

it is just before dawn. the house breathes and groans like a wretched soul trapped in a bottomless pit long before midnight. in the gray morning light, delicate wrists stained with ink serve as maps through a desolate labyrinth. “lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

from the corner of my eye i see shadows of uncharted men that feed upon the protective covering, encasing us; separating our world from theirs. the barrier is a shield at best, yet doorway at worst.

try to detach your eyes from their persistent, wandering gaze; and you might just catch a glimpse of a shadow gliding out of sight.

don’t second guess yourself sweetheart, you know exactly what you saw.

shadowy figures slightly out of reach, but still quite visible – gliding silently amidst, whispering quietly to those surrounding. looking directly at the figures, a gauzy lace veil delicately masks and covers each shadow.

unseen claws shred the thin barrier before it is tattered and torn. one by one, little by little, each figure sharpens into perfect visual acuity, wholly in sigh(t). as you slowly inch back, eyes unblinking with disbelief, their voices are no longer whispers.

the gaping pits of opened mouths drown you in hollow prattles, screeching rasps; the cruel high pitched icy sneers of laughter.

petrified with terror and shock at the shadow’s newfound ability to speak, you acutely notice that the house is creaking and wheezing. you can hear footsteps on the opposite side of the house, and with your eyes averted, they are gone.

with this, you must take into consideration that i have spent far too long with eyes wide shut, drowning in utter fear fueled by morbid curiosity for this world: things seen and heard. each is a cancerous tumor mutilating my mind beyond repair.

to me, the shadow figures’ tattered veil appears to be a doorway, a portal to another universe. this sheer possibility spawns the magnitude of infinite and parallel universes.
much like the shifting hallways concealed in an e(in)ternal labyrinth.

amidst this never ending maze, man is forced to wander blindly from birth to death; where he then circles back around to his exact place of previous conception, only to be born anew. condemned to blindly roam and repeat his unbroken cycle for all eternity.

in this labyrinth we are all gods, we are all monsters. each creation story is universal, yet individual to each new life.

the sinner and the saint are both born into divinity.

November 26th, 2010.

on the fringes of desolation and delusion.

this is myself at my most naked. my most vulnerable. this is the raw, berating honesty.

I remember this event in its entirety.
this was the peak of my downfall, the climax of my psychosis.

this piece was scribbled frantically during the fact, in a tiny red journal, as I watched this abhorrent atrocity unfold in the darkness that surrounded me.

this is not fiction. yet I cannot tell you with utmost certainty that this wasn't real.

Lose me in his labyrinth, in his futile endless maze, for when the hunt is over I'll be lost upon his gaze.

He is not curious as a cat nor furious as a beast, we are just men within this maze but too him were his feast.

Daedalus- the creator of the labyrinth in which to hold the mighty minotaur.
Trevor Dowe Jan 2

Last night I dreamt again
Of a place long lost from memory
You stood beside me
On a darkened shore
The waning moon overhead
Inky waves crashed in with the tide
The ivory of your skin
Glowed radiantly
And illuminated our way
The island, so small, so large
Was a labyrinth
But you couldn't get lost
And I followed your luminescence
In the core of the maze
Sat an ice statue of us
Locked in agony or ecstasy
So lifelike, so vibrant
And then you sang
A haunting aria of love of loss
Of loneliness and pain
Tears poured down my face
Or maybe it was the ice melting
As I became colder
The statue came to life
And you ran me through with a dagger
My blood froze around us
I watched the sculpture depart

Horror Poem
Ollie Dec 2017

I think if I were in a place right now
I’d be in the eye of the hurricane
It’s like, I can see the world falling apart around me
But it’s calm here where everything floats
The problem about this
Is that if something happens to you, it happens to me
That’s hard to explain
So I’m not gonna try
Another problem is that the eye of a hurricane can’t do anything about it especially when I’m visually impaired and my eyes don’t work
So what am I supposed to do with another eye, attach it to my forehead and hope it works?
That’s not how it works
I wrote a poem called The Way It Works not too long ago
And the problem with that is that I’m getting too relatable
But that’s all I know how to do
I have this hobby of memorizing things
If you give me anything I can memorize it if I have the interest and the time
Another bit is that I know how to rhyme
Right off the top of my head, sitting here in my bed
Goddamn, I could win a rap battle
But I won’t
Cause I stutter and I trail off my sentences and I’m second best and mumble anyway
There’s more room in the eye, I swear
Come sit next to me
Stay awhile
Make me smile
I’ll do the same for you(as long as your words are true)
I keep changing my background on my computer to space
So I think maybe my mind is one of its own
But what if I’m just a hurricane
And this series of poems is me trying to figure out
Until eventually I’m not a labyrinth
Or a galaxy
Or space
Or even a hurricane
I’m just a good, dead, 6 feet under goddamn blunder who didn’t know what to do with their life, not exactly
Right now I’ll be the eye of the hurricane but it’ll change tomorrow
So be careful
I don’t want you to be sitting next to me in here when the playlist plays Strangers

Well. I dunno anymore.
Ollie Dec 2017

One of my weirder obsessions is just how beautiful outer space looks
It’s beautiful and complex and we will never be able to understand it
Despite our best attempts
We will never, ever, ever be able to understand it
And yet so many of us love it and admire it and launch ourselves into it
And some of us even let it tell us what to do
It’s just an endless abyss that doesn’t know where it begins or ends
It doesn’t know the words
It doesn’t know of a sky or an earth or an Ollie and it never will
Because it is above us
And yet it does not know it is
And it does not see worlds fall beneath it because it is infinite
And it does not know these things or the power it holds
In all of this thinking of words and outer space
I ponder why is it called outer space in the first place
Why not inner space
And is inner space just the cracks and pieces inside my mind, left there by an unhealthy janitor(all of this unbeknownst to outer space, of course)
Am I thinking inside inner space or am I inner space myself
Should I dwell too long on these questions?
I’m figuring it out
One measly step at a time
On and on my smallish feet tread
And bend and if I were in outer space maybe I’d be floating
And once I said my mind may be a galaxy and then a labyrinth but I’ve redecided I’m space
And I’m not quite sure whether I’m outer or inner yet
Because one is vast and powerful and the other is small and broken and never talked about
Which means one is who I could be and the other is who I am
And it depends on which one my mind is
And how I’m going to get there
So let’s not share wealthy and broad deductions on how to end a poem with my tediously small hands
Because I need to get back to think I need to figure out who I am
And that’s a shame
My belly button is an inny so that may be a clue

I’m having a night, I think. A night.
Kylie Nov 2017

The world we live in which so peautiful offers me nothing but deceit and death, my dear mother.
The world in which Im going soon, yet may be ugly to you, offers me more than here, mother.
He got you mother now he’s coming for me, and no matter how far I run he’s got me.
I ran to a place, with a small case, I took brother and blood to take us to a place much more calm, but he found us first, mother.
mother I am here now. I am happy.

Inspired by film “Pans labyrinth” (2006)dar mother
Ollie Oct 2017

I’ve decided it’s a labyrinth
My mind, at least
I thought it was a galaxy but now I see it’s a maze
At least, when I raise my head
Each different path leads to something deadly
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it
I’ve had nightmares for the last 5 nights
The problem is, I can’t remember what they’re about
Except last night
My dad was walking and talking
I’m a little scared it was his dream too
I know it wasn’t, though
Because he remembered who I was
Dad called me yesterday
All I heard was a sharp “Olivia!”
His voice
And his choice, because I heard them in the background and he hung up
But at least Dad knew my name
10 seconds
The man could’ve called my sister
In here it’s a labyrinth
And outside it’s full of heroes
So here I am, stuck the civilian, until they realize I’m one of them
Or maybe something more
Maybe I’m a battlefield
The one who holds all their secrets and never lets them go
The one you can trust
After all
If I screamed your secrets out here in this maze
No one would even hear the echo
It’s so big I’ve gotten lost
And I ran out of golden string to guide myself with
I’m no war hero and I’m not Theseus but I don’t want to be stuck here writing a thesis in yet another essay
Because I’m exploring this maze and I’m exploring this labyrinth and I’m going to bed
Night 6
I really hope I don’t have nightmares this time

I don’t know how to stop fighting quite yet.
I am really stressed out. Like, major. I want to cry pretty much every second of every day. School isn’t helping, and all my friends p much hate me at this point. I’m just trying to get through the days. So I wrote this. True story.
Kaija Derycke Oct 2017

Spin silk threads trough the labyrint that binds me,
Over, under,
around and beside me...
and in the end
Always,

Come find me

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