a letter to each of my wraiths,
spirits of insidious intent.
to those who could not stomach
my tempestuous volatility,
the ones who grinned
and ran upon learning
I am a storm with skin.

the phantasms, loathsome and odious.
to the scorch marks you left upon
the deepest caverns of my soul.
melodious, vile, cloying, abysmal.

I drank every honeyed word like a promise:
yet it was naught but fermented love.
these are the odes for the ghosts
of my past mistakes.

I'll paint you all in a ravenously
meticulous light. you will have
your fifteen minutes in the sun,
before I set you all ablaze.



i.

you need no title, you deserve no name.
if you ever read this, harbor no doubts
that this is your trial.

you make me wish for an exorcism.
after all these years, your demon still sleeps within the marrow of my bones.

you are nothing more than a disease.

by some act of paradoxical cruelty,
I am unable to hate you. you deserve
it, but it is out of my capabilities.

you were poison.
you whispered sweet promises
that you didn't,
couldn't understand.
you tasted like pomegranates
and original sin.
you held me up when I
couldn't breathe, believe
in anything, or even stand.

thrice you sent me back
to the abyss.
in the end, we ascended
the throne as rightful heirs.

did you know what
you were doing?
did it even matter?
did you happen to care?

I'd like nothing more than to burn
every inch of you from my memory.

I dream of you on your birthday.
on days and dates of significance
that you have long forgotten.

you are a parasite. you were my muse.
I cannot help but wonder if you
understand what you truly are.
you have done that which is
unforgivable: I hope it corrupts you.
hate yourself for me, as I am unable to.

pray to whatever gods you hold
that you never cross my path.
I will annihilate you with a single glance.
encase you in ice so you may rule
the underworld alone.
I am your captive no longer.

I see you fully, in inscrutable detail.
I want to be the one holding the mirror,
all too happy to show you exactly
what you have always been. let it destroy
you: yet even that is too kind a fate.

your abhorrence festers within yourself,
your diseased and poisoned soul
eating away at the facade you built.
I'm tearing it down and exposing
your darkest fears and sins.



ii.

you are a brazen ballad of
burning bravado.

I'm done purging and
dissecting my soul for you.

you are not an enigma.
you are no daughter of the sun.
you are transparent.
you paint yourself in ashes;
desperate for resplendence.
I cannot stop you, darling.
just remember: I am the one
who taught you how to shine.

yes, it is true: I burnt you
with hands of unintentional
volatility. since my
transgressions; I have fasted,
wept, and atoned my sins.
yet desipte agreements,
promises of your forgiveness;
I have all but brought you
my head upon a platter.

I weigh my words upon a scale.
I do not wish to harm you again.
I am Atlas, pirouetting across
an endless sea of ice.
I dare not shatter you
with thoughtless words.
yet you have become a
threat to my own health.

I want nothing more than to repair
the frayed edges, yet I cannot
sew the tatters of fifteen years
with a single spool of thread.
restoration is not a one way street.

two weeks ago I bore my soul:
the fragility, voracity, my
undiltuted truth.
I forgave myself for what
I did in days past, at your behest.

it is, and shall never be enough.
no. not for the opulence
of a goddess. yet you are not
made of fire. you are ice.

opaque.

you have been nothing more
than a mirage. at least the truly
deceased only visit twice a year.
they don't leave unhinged promises.

“we could rebuild, recreate,”
and other half truths
you weave and sell.

you know just as well as I do, honey:
words are wind.
they do not bring warmth;
foster naught but sweet sighs
that shall never come to light.

your translucency is a beacon,
and you are the only one
unaware of how easy it is
to see through you.

I am truly sorry.
I am finished ripping open
the lining of my bones
to the lamenting cries
of unanswered echoes.

if ever your luster returns,
bringing substantial proof of
warmth, commitment; your needles
and thread: perhaps we can
recreate our tapestry.

until then, the silk shall remain
as it is: ravelled, fading,
matching your soul in every
transparent, powdery aspect.

this is my poetry
my creation, in words
as i am reborn through
the outpouring of thoughts
all coming together
to create
the picture in my head

If a ship is replaced piece by piece, part by part,
It will eventually become an entirely new ship.
Not a shred of the old one will remain,
Except in memory.

I have tried to die a thousand times.
I think I’ve killed a piece of myself in each attempt.
In theory, if I **** and rebuild myself piece by piece, part by part
Eventually the “me” that is left will be entirely new.

Sylvia Plath once said, “Dying is an art”;
I wonder if I’m finally an artist.

You died already,

The thing came and got you,

You're dead bro,

And this is the first thing you've read bro,

In your new life,

You should do right,

Trust in others and yourself,

Do well by the company you keep,

Don't stop at the beep,

Keep counting sheep,

Don't ask questions or the answers will surely make you lose sleep,

Just you be you, let me be me,

But inquire on me and I'll let you see,

The beast that killed you in your last life is the same one that's going to do you in,

If you keep losing focus on this moment, THIS moment you're in,

But if you can somehow keep it, ******* keep it I said, did you win?

Probably not cause I forced you to try and hold on to what you had not,

You can't hold onto a moment if you're really in the present then move on,

Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving,

Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving,

Don't stop moving, never stop moving,

Move forward,

Backward,

Sideways,

******* diagonal, your way or my way,

Just keep moving.

Ducks lay with tucked noses
relishing rays, taking wing
on Spring's first winds.
The water a flurry,
flapping, diving, thriving,
my mind takes a deep breath.
Toes grip the ground,
sprout roots, push through the dirt
moist with water replenishing my energy.
In this moment
this lake, this shore,
the entire forest,
you and I,
meld.

His look is always skyward
Bound
He treads the earth, he’s not yet
Found
What’s his been looking for for years
But doesn’t he despair
Does he?
Oh no, not he;
He firmly strides th’ infirment earth
Not looking at his feet at all
For what it is to him whose looks
T’ distinguish try the Heavens’ nooks
Amidst the grazing clouds; he walks
And dreams of life up there despising
Our earthly deeds and talks,
How we scurry all life long
Around and round we know not what;
And so he always there with mind
But the soul of his is in latticed plight,
It trapped within the bonds of flesh,
And so he makes his final dash,
To ‘midst the angels be rebirth,
And so at last he leaves the earth

Yule tide brushes away autumns leaves.
Samhain has come to end.
The dead have returned home.
Now those sea has become too wild to sail.

It's time to get out of Limbo.
Barge out of the gates.
The battle was lost. Trust me I know.
But now, the war is about to begin.

It is in the time of silence that our own demons come out.
Let the anger and frustration fight those beasts within.
Let this torture not be for nothing.
It's time to shatter the frozen sea.

Raise the sails once more,
Pour a glass of whiskey.
Put on your finest clothes.
And ready your ****** weapons.

It's time to go to war with ourselves.
Winter is here, and we fight alone.
Those who follow will be welcome.
Those who stay behind will be missed.

But do not mistake my tears for weakness.
Do not mistake my silence for fear.
I may not be ready for what is to come.
But I know how to stand my ground.

Run or stay?
Is it too late to pave a way?
I have faith even though
I've been manipulated by the one you all follow.
Long before you all knew how to say your names.
Rebirth without the natural process doesnt feel like thats what you all
need.
I left but came back, is that possible?
Let it be.
Time to be free.