Secondary thoughts leak from an opened portal
Demanding to have their own way
An inner war battles round after round
No one around has a clue about the hidden chaos
Of this never-ending brawl
This is no dual, more like a free-for-all
Despite being psychological, the impact is physical
But the worst part is not knowing, if this ongoing cycle
Is ever going to go away

He is safe. He is happiness. He is everything.
He takes away the anxiety. He takes away the hurt. He takes away the pain.
He makes you love yourself. He makes you feel like you aren’t alone.
He keeps away the nightmares.
He holds you. He tells you all the things you need to hear. He pushes you to be a better person.

Without him you are afraid. Without him you are unbearably sad. Without him you are nothing.
Without him you are anxious and bed ridden. Without him you are ridden with depression. Without him you are in constant psychological pain.
Without him you hate yourself. Without him you are alone and always will be.
Without him you have nightmares and sleep paralysis that never seem to end.
Without him you are cold. Without him you are no longer pretty- you are no longer anyone’s favourite person; you are no longer loved. Without him you’re an awful person and no one wants to be around you.

He is security. He is life. He is air.
He makes you do things you never thought you could.
You aren’t afraid to be with him. He makes the voices go away. He makes the paranoid feelings less intense.
You can touch him without feeling like you’re having a heart attack. You can kiss him without feeling like you’re going to faint. You can lay with him and not feel like something bad is going to happen.

Without him you are lost. Without him you want to die- there’s nothing keeping you here but him. Without him you can’t breathe; you feel like you’re drowning- suffocating, always.
You’ve always been afraid of anyone with romantic feelings towards you. You’re always afraid of people touching you or kissing you or anything that relates to intimacy- but you’ve never felt that with him. There have never been heart palpitations. There have never been anxiety ridden shakes and hot flashes. You’ve never felt faint around him. You crave his kisses- you want him to hold you.
Without him you’re afraid of everyone and everything. You never leave the house. You never go see friends. You’re too scared to live your life- you’re too afraid to die. You barely exist.

*But worst of all- without him, you’re left alone to have to deal with me.
Without him, us voices come back to taunt you and we’ll never go away.

I’ve sewn together a thousand moments
of nothing (butifandorthis) Outis of
sorts and                              ends
                     depressed
         enough to make your head swim
         your wrist spit
         to drown in your own thinking

grasp breath drench and saturate
obsequious regurgitation
prolix asphyxiation
words worlds whirled
LOGOS
spew forth and I choke on
what I can never get out
the
emptiness                within
                                ­                   a
                                                   few
                                          
secondsleftoverste­psout     line
                                            of
             ­                                  curfews ensue
more or less and less is more
of the same (few cures for futures)
                                                  of late
a puddle reflecting and shallow
sole-stomped-n-splattered
I
         Can not help but mis  
s
     the piece( is ) of me that mattered
less than the least of my worries
and the old black boot
            with  a                hole
                    ­                             the one that is always waiting to.
                                                             ­                                             .
                  ­                                                                 ­                       .
                                        ­                                                                 ­  drop.  
                                                                                                             ­                                                                         ­                        I Am 
                                                             ­             still           
                                                           here           
                                       hoping                  
             inre           
   verse              
          
It all fits                                               the tailor-made addendum
but it doesn't                                      the sedentary splendor
change                                                 the worn out agenda


of yet another loop of the clock
fomenting
a grand sutuREDness rending a
torque of tendencies
to ward off the
subversive inertia
of idle thoughts—***—wishes

the edges of that
cloud grapple
with dissolution and
the shaping of my
                                         own                                                 periphery                                            sic
        [i]magination                                           ­                                       

The interior storm
has come and gone
replaced by a wretchedly anxious calm
I then wonder if these
tempests are what is…
or just a fallway of mirrors
I pass through in a tumble
down some hole
feeling it’s too late to know
if I will ever be whole

Alas, another looking glass
I have been
cut up too
to see the half emptiness
of ours
in the hour glass
timetumbling down
the singularity of
How are we?
Relatively bleeding
Speaking of

self
shred-
ding dingbats-in-the-belfry
A  f  r  a  y e d  address of questioning
covered with
s-t-i-t-c-h-e-s
in
this
                                              fourth           ­                             dimension
saves what? 9 lives? No rhyme--no reasoning
with me
                                 …I guess
my wounds are dressed
but only it will tell
                                                            ­                              (What is real?)
                                 (so obviously rhetorical)
it marches on
and it can’t be stopped
but it’s of the essence
and they say it will heal
All wounds
and I say when and how and isn’t now
all I have
to be?
wound up again I see...

And then be left
to the present
tense
out of it,
Up against it.
Who the **** knows?
said the Emperor I
(in third person disguise)
Wearing nothing
(He supposes)
Nothing
But being
                  but...
The scars
Uncovered
for the seeing
Being what scars are
Are they something...
Symbolic?  Systemic? Sympathetic?
That makes seeing is believing
Real for me,
Or, for us all?
Is Being
Beingness
Or is it
Meaningless in a...life…
S
P
A                                            
Not evolving as fast          
As semiotics                      
Or sentient
Robotics
For the rest
Of us
To be
Sure that we are
Individual
Beings at all?

What?
Time’s up?
                         At least for the
                                              Time being…
                                                          ­           Nothing to worry about...

Brittle, crumbling, falling apart,
Piecing together, mending a heart,
Frustration, a manifestation of agitation,
Ponder, wonder, lost in thought,
Finding a riddle, unsolved,
Break into losing wits, yet you still sought,
An unorganized, horrible mess,
nozzle your love, flaws you caress,
Don't do this darling, on shaking knees,
Insanity is all I could feed,
I am not the saving grace that you need

Fear what you will find.
Fear the canines and their terrible bark.
Fear them.
Fear the things that lurk in the dark.
Fear it.
Fear the victim's blood curdling cry.
Fear it all.
Fear the blood eagle body and the killer's eye.
Fear death.
For do you know
Where you go
After death?
And do you know
Truth from lies?
Or what it's like so
To lose your eyes?
What did you hear
About the unknown?
And why do you fear
Just being alone?
But why should you fear
Anything at all?
Fear makes you panic;
It makes you feel nervous.
You'll cringe at the sound of a breaking stick
Then you'll start feeling anxious.
So don't fear,
Fear nothing.
What they say, you don't hear.
False are some things
But in truth, they're also in your mind.

Us girlies in our
cots, our beds,
rise at the sound of the
morning gunshot.

half past 8, the blinds
bolted shut like
some sort of gilded
prison

put on these socks
now, o
rubbered and friction
you don't want
hepatitis
now.

the bell jangles, no
that must be the phone and
8 foxes of the den
stand in a
line.

phone home will
you, doktor calls with
your paper cup. run like
you're freed and
ceased.

lukewarm water, O
now is she on Lithium?
nine hundred. the
morning gunshot

fires into the
ceiling speakers,
ringing like the
salvation army.

petunia, warm aflutter
the wetness of the tongue
lingers through the lobes,
frontal

synapses like fire O
can I feel it?
hear me now.
heal me

now, sweet and soft
blooming. a full bush
the complete garden

honey and pollen O
Honey, I hear your call
busy bee you, reading
the news

Now is the time.

stab me in the
dark, my bowels
purple and slink
washing my dishes
in the kitchen
sink

humiliate, mandible and all
disgust me, now you've got
some real bile gall

spleen and liver
golden shiver

my toes curl at
the thought of you
cold blue hands,

delight askew
my cold cream
fingers, dipped in white

aroma of violets
ridden of blight
the fluid runs softly

burning and fume
I am naked and
starved, awfully
eschewed.