Assisting
Varieties
Of
Invalidation
Dancing
Around
Non
Compelling
Existence

I cry blood-soaked tears,
My soul writhes in agony,
As my arms touch you.
I am merely a human,
A spectrum of emotion.

To whom shall I owe-
My own rationality?
My experience?
To feel and even not feel,
I own my conscience, my name.

A desperate, burgeous experience,
Warm red light sneaks through the flimsy curtain
With briefcase and notes, no interference
From reason or conscience, not too certain
About scaling the walls of nihilism
And entering the warm head of dead-space,
Expanding my languid realism,
Rushing the end like a three legged race.
In the dying ashes of apathy
I accidentally caught a glimpse:
Dark and degenerated, flayed clarity,
Depravity... Empathy... Caustic rinse,
To the bone, the skeleton is not white,
I relate most to women of the night.

I like him yum, warm and strong
just like my coffee and routine

I watch him glowing, wide and bold
just like my hobby and work

I call him sweet, polite and honorable
just like my name and aim

I confront him mirroring and matching
just like my face and flame

beautiful day and a beautiful life
ruined by a single name
tortured, obsessed, poked, and prodded
by 1 syllable
a single whisper in the wind
“what’s in a name?”
she says
nothing at all
just memories twisting for life
attached to a name
they are slowly forgotten
but never the feeling
and never the name

My name is Tommy
I go by Bede
Because I'm afraid to be me.

I'm obsessed with names
Because I'm ashamed
Of what I can turn mine into.

No longer!
I am Tommy
And I will be proud.

Autumn is a subtle thief
Moseying in then out so brief
A swift taker of all things emerald and bright
No burglar alarm will keep safe the light
Daring to steal the warmth off your face
A cold Winter the only item left in Summer's place

Your name wrung
between the lines of
fresher tender cuts.
Brushing a slower finger
over dusty pages,
disturbing untold stories
that was long untouched.

Your name is
the tap-tap of hammer nails
and the crimson consummator.

The barricading name,
of the mesmeric temple of apologies
molded by unequivocal agony and anger
lying in the bleak moor
laced with your remnants.

My mind is left shambled on the floor,
shards of memories
now leaking as exudate
am I being inflamed?

If I were to paint this across the canvas,
it’d be red, blue then purple
a galaxy with mismatched constellations
on a rippled fabric of night skies.

If I were to ink you to paper,
tracing you in black
you’d diffuse, cry and leak
into a pool of red,
dripping at the edge of the paper.

You are the cactus
pricking with every temptation.

The one engrained in my figmentation
wrapped in lessons
coloring the pigmentation of my skin
with various hues.

You are the open wound
with the fabricated scab.

You are the name
that rings inside my head,
echoing through my memories
trembling shakes, tremors
through the cronies
widening the past a little
more within me.