Im finally ready to talk about my mom
Now that I feel this numb
she died half a decade ago
and I loved a woman half a decade ago
When I was playing video games on the couch
on the corner imagine of that L shaped green couch
and I slowly realized out of the corner of my mind
more out of the corner of my consciousness
that my mother was dead
laying right next to me
Cold unresponsive and unbreathing
It was now looking back on it
a direct parallel to at least two different moments in my life
When my brother died and I stood outside my mothers bed
barely gathering the courage to wake her
often crushing eternities of silence keeping me from prodding her
from daring to say her name much after
I dont remember when she did awoke
I dont remember her unbearable fear
or the wanton panic in her eyes
but I remember my own
Oh I remember my own and
I kept her just out of sight of cognizance
Before moms funeral
the latter correspondent showed
I had *** with a lie
a lie I knew well
But I kept it just out of sight
No just at the edge of my mind
The drive home
with her brother in the back seat
and my *** deep inside her
fertile cheating womb
My Dark Twisted Fantasy
Bent right around me
I dont remember what I said
Panicking
I couldnt look her in the eye
Id only see myself
And I have to keep her out of sight
just on the line
to where maybe I didnt get here at all
maybe not me but another me
isnt experiencing this reality at all
shock they call it i think
fear
coping
dissociation
compartmentalizing
the trauma
the oh not me
I sat there for how long
playing a game I did not remember
as it was going on around me
my mind was already bleaching
forget forget fade to black
and still she laid there
not breathing
covered in her own blood and mucus
in a position that was disgustingly revealing
till they came
and took her carcass away
and I held someone
some family member or friend or some such
not even blinking and her
just out of sight
just out of thinking
until she left
and my weakness unyielding
exited too
only cold reality now reaching

The epilogue
of this ugly selfish poem
isnt all that revealing
not like before
not like after
I havent been able to form a real relationship
even at twenty three
I maybe came close but
Ive realized im very much a broken being
there was some sort of lesson
or personal growth
some sort of fundamental strength or courage
that was supposed to be found in hope
theres supposed to be a happy ending
a someone special waiting for me
no its not whats on tv
its all my sanity can dream
yet i cant share or feel
these dark deathly thoughts
i cannot even risk now
being rejected instead of
alone in my haught
oh ill only look
in the dark corners of the web
and ill only take and ill never give
i dont know where else to look
i never really did
and i have no moral compass to guide
only my experiences now to abide
so the epilogue is simple now:
Maybe I'll see you one day,
Around the corners of these ugly selfish words.

Isn't there a better way?
O'er this snakeskin shedding,
Than this slow emotional death
Looking for cartharsis
Never to be?

Please, make me, me.
Release me from the birdcage,
And tell me where to dream.

Ah, I look for a tool of my own,
Somewhere buried in the dirt,
Because I am a plow without purpose,
A sword in peacetime.

Sheathed, but mostly lost.
Meaningless, but not wandering,
and so there is no journey,
no art.


Stagnation. Ah.
And a slow morose breath.
Just one long, inhale
For no greater cosmic purpose,
Than the exhale, fleeting.

What a beauty, she said in my agonizing reverie.
Smiling, turning, leaning,
Oyasumi, Good morning.
And the sun's lights ne'er did beam.
The morning stayed dark.
I died, there
heart still beating.

Twisted brain shiver spine tickle
Morbid curiosity has the wheel and lead feet
The torch is melting your face
Death beats you with a fire extinguisher
Death keeps screaming "it's for the irony"
You high five with exuberance.

I want to be the cigarette
   between your lips,
   to when you would always decide
   whether to light me,
   take in my smoke,
   and let me singe scathingly your lungs,
   as you stare on my embers,
   entranced on my flicker,
   watching me dwindle
   with the haze growing
   more drunk of the evening dank;

Or keep me cold
   and suffer the grim hankering
   for my tepid nicotine
   to be your oxygen;
   for the comforting reek I leave on your collar;
   the bitter aftertaste, in your mouth.

And then rustle in sobs to the placid moon,
   "Let him **** me;
   He is all I want."

How could you ever love me to death?
What a morbid thought to think!

But if you ever attempt such a thing,
I'll love you back for being so crazy
because I'm kinda crazy,
and somewhere along all of that crazy,
well,
Perhaps I might die.

And even then,
I'll cry in my eternal sleep
Knowing one day you'll fall in love again
While I still love you
as the sky soars above you.

When we get too tired, we falter
Like the static and bump
In your humming and pulsating silence
Tell me, are you tired hanging from the tree?

I still wish for you.
My heart don't exactly leap
When I see you
But other times
I drown
With necessity and hesitation
I unbuckle my heart
And steady my knees
This life indeed is a waning moon.

The piercing cold has frozen my hold.
As my breath mists in the wind, I lose my mind in my sin.
Why did I walk through the pitch black portal?
Why did I sell my innocence for a price that wasn't priceless?
I look into the mirror, my face is what I see.
Yet my eyes hold a darkness, how is this me?
So I turn in horror, step out for some air.
But from me escapes screams of unfiltered anguish 'til my voice is like a bear.
Why did I walk?
Why did I sell?
Let the cold take me.
It's warmer than my hell.

Combat....

though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....

for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the ******* of it's victim.....

Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....

Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts

The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)

The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...

The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the ****** eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....

out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion  
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and  scattered  tranquility...

A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."

Which all correlates in the ****** of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....