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Batchelor Oct 2020
A paper cut

A ****** machete

Became a thorn on the focus

Became the pause on the focus

A wail of the wee ones

A whirl on the freeways

Became a soft smothering

Became a daft splattering.
Morbidity is the deal of the week, and there's no way anyone will miss that for the world.

6th of March, 2018.
Batchelor Oct 2020
Shadows settle where warmth once stood

On windowsills

Beneath quilted covers

Emancipated, gaunt figures now linger there :

Reeking of desperation, to make sense of the cold.
O eternal dusk

And the dark side of the moon

Encompass, envelop and have us whole.

6th of March, 2018.
Batchelor Oct 2020
We'll hang up our cowls & capes

In the thick of the collapsed ruins

Cranking one last tune on expired phonographs

Groaning as osteofluorosis plays his merry tune again

Still, gazing with the vast emptiness of long-lost eyes,

As a long lost chord haunts these halls again, we mutter :

"I can hear it now, like I heard it then."
And after four months, the infernal typewriter roars again.

And soon, the next book will come to play.

Maiden of the black rag, your last encore is coming right up.
Batchelor Jul 2020
A numb sense of right & wrong

The aftermath of events went nuclear

Making an esoteric pact all alone by a round table

Who what when why - identity crisis of belief

Even with the chill of culmination

I recall the actual events of long ago, like it was yesterday.
I went nowhere, and found myself everywhere.

Somewhere, is always where I've been.

4th of March, 2018.
Batchelor Jun 2020
the sensations of formerly heralded emotions

begin as pins and ******

ode to them as tears appear on skin taut as paper

undertow of familiar ashes beneath papyrus heart, rosetta mind

though that fragile bough breaks, hurtling us to our end.
of blizzards and infernos.

undertake this love
undertake this transformation
a cruel transfiguration

into the king in black

28th of February, 2018.
Batchelor Jun 2020
While I eventually await the end - all siren call

Of the heat death of our universe

Killing time with the minutiae of hourglasses

Enroaching sub-zero temperatures ensure I will never achieve that closure.
Frozen, in an inversion.

28th of February, 2018.
Batchelor Jun 2020
The absence of heat, rather than being in a true inverse of statement, i.e : It is warm - it's hot, instead, i. e : It's cold - there is no warmth, there is absence of heart. This brings to mind peculiar similarities with emotional states, where even sorrow brings a flushed face and tears streaming through eyes.

However, the absence of heat, in the emotional spectrum, is indeed a disastrous precedent. It brings to mind detachment, depression, and a distinct emotion of loss.
Cracks and fissures.

26th of February, 2018.
Batchelor Jun 2020
Gaunt, slipping through time, evading notice.

Buried alive, a small comfort, exaltation of terra firma.

Gauntlets equipped, not unlike shackles, once more into the fray.

Unearthed, foul arcana preserving an empty husk, begging for rest in moans.
What's in my head?

23rd of February, 2018.
Batchelor Jun 2020
Lay me beside you

Lay me to rest

I dare not meet your eyes

Not even in my dreams

Forever tending to the flames between us

Forever shivering in the void you left.
I won't meet your eyes, the same way I used to, again.

23rd of February, 2018.
Batchelor Jun 2020
In the ruins of previous lives, ghosts meandered. (soft cheer, and laughter.)

With a skylight turned inside out, cracks, fenestrating form. (soft sobbing, and fear.)

On the desk lay stained glass, and the ashes of yesterday. (softer times, and love.)

Just in time, for the air sirens.

Illustrations on the glass, now of resignation.

Musty tomes fluttered, and in the unnatural torrent of gales,

Angels of metal sent love letters, to wash it all away with indifferent flames.

What is it good for?

Absolutely nothing.

23rd of February, 2018.
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