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My indifferent shelf of admonition
Sets a precedent for a series of irrational
Particularly, drops of consumable poison

This poison, you see, induces tranquility
But instills aggressiveness into your
My words are incoherent and
blurred like my deteriorating mind

My indifferent shelf of admonition
Sets a precedent for a series of
broken shards in the glass of life,
Particularly, drops of poison that
kills us to make us feel alive

One bottle of blithe at a time

Keep those bottles up on those shelves.
It’s a miserable truth
To know everything is borne
On the mind’s river
Inert pictures, sterile frames
Loveless leaves, idle mountains
The beauty is the eye
And if the eye holds no lustre
The soul will wither
In place of the mind
Which birthed it all the same
In a one-sided frame
Rose Feb 19
I stand to see what sleeps beside me.
My husband, I still have yet to see.
Is he the one whispering sweet nothings in my ear?
Or the monster all but I seem to fear?
I reach for the light to find his identity,
I hesitate questioning my own destiny,
Am I destined to **** my loyal spouse?
He shares not his face, yet shares his house.
Shaking the hypothetical thoughts away,
Again my determination ends its sway.
Turning I look upon his divine face
Falling to my knees, I forget my grace.
My husband is no serpent, no monster,
Some divinity who deserves true honor.
My trembling hands drop the sinful dagger,
But my hands soon cause my world to shatter.
My lighted lamp’s scorching oil
Gives my sweet husband great toil.
The liquid flows and burns his skin,
And so it seems our trials begin.
He wakes and flees my wretched state,
As I seal our love into its dreadful fate.
Zywa Feb 11
Chatterchick is scattering cackles
because my husband is following
a truth of his own again and in vain
I am looking for silence

Blacky is in the dumps
sighing that she suffocates
in the darkening darkness
where it's never silent

It won't work!
Bring nuts and bars of chocolate!
Madam settles herself
to savour it in silence

I wish it were so
easy, Chatterchick cries
Bonkers, Fatty, Layabout
they taunt; Silence, Silence, I

shout, Go, go! I'm going
to think of something else
or thoughtlessly
do sports, get tired

I wish it were so
easy, Chatterchick cries
and the dumps are moaning
and the sofa is snoring
For Maria Godschalk

Collection “Freend”
Homunculus Feb 2
There's a secret saboteur,
         hidden within everyone
Fashioning his cloak and dagger
         for a twisted bit of fun

The use of his first artifact is
         to eclipse the Inner Sun
The purpose of the second is for
         tearing holes so light may run

Through an ever looming darkness
         which obscures the thought of hope
Extending brittle olive branches
         or frayed lengths of climbing rope, so

That his ploys will surely tempt you
         that you'll try, and that you'll fail
Til his sadistic plotting leaves you
         feeling withered, weak, and frail

So joyously, he toys with thee,
         to watch his sullen victim
And thrives upon the notion that
         thou never wilt evict him

For how such lavish luxury
         couldst ever thou afford
When thou art but a lowly serf
         and He, a mighty Lord?

But if you only knew the truth
         it'd surely set you free!
That deep below the surface
         he is you, and you are he.

So, discipline this phantom
         tell him that you've had enough!
He struggles in control of you
         but you have called his bluff!

So now, you shatter chains that bind you
         now you break the psychic yoke
So now, you seize from him the dagger
         now you rip to shreds the cloak.
This is a poem is loosely based upon the Jungian archetype of the shadow. In analytical psychology, the shadow is the dark side of the psyche, which is typically repressed, and must be faced in order for the psyche to mature into individuation.

In Jung's own words: "The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge, and it therefore,. as a rule, meets with considerable resistance. Indeed, self-knowledge as a psychotherapeutic measure frequently requires much painstaking work extending over a long period."

In the context of this poem, the shadow plays the role of the saboteur, who undermines the efforts of the ego below the level of consciousness, and ultimately deludes the ego into self deprecation. However, as the ego enters into a period of reflection, it comes to recognize the shadow and its effects on the process of psychic life, ultimately taking the first steps toward confronting the shadow and breaking its negative conditioning.

It is also worth noting that this piece is highly experimental for me, especially in its oscillation between archaic and contemporary usage. I will continue to edit, revise, amend, and re-write it as I see fit. And, after all, I still have quite a bit of Jungian theory to catch up on. However, I think this is a good start.
Euphie Jan 10
The way you trace your fingers
over my lips, I can't help
but get excited.

I guess that's why
you end up with tiny scratches
between your shoulder blades.
Erick Jan 8
The mind conceals inner depths.
A broken psyche, a shadow of death.
Trying to fill the void.

Wander lost under the veil.
A shadow casts a broken sail.
Steering towards the abyss.

Fearing the unknown.
Embrace the shadow I've been told.
Seeking harbor far from home.
Bad Luck Sep 2018
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
She finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees crack and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

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