What do you mean come to the wake?

Aren't you coming over still?

I thought you had a show next week...

Wasn't that you on the phone the other day?

When did we last speak?

Was it in good context as I remember it was?

I just can't conceive to believe that you're not.

How can I come to your wake when I'm still only dreaming?

Who will I go with?

Surely not you...

It couldn't be.

I just won't believe. I'm not going to leave.

I can't be at a wake for a man that hasn't died yet...

I simply refuse to believe.

i have palm trees growing from my scalp,
its roots my neurons,
but they’ve withered over the winter – the coconuts fell and
i use them as bowls for soup now.
i use the disintegrated crunchy remains of a palm leaf,
a tattered fan, to masquerade the satellites where my eyes were.
the sand that cools as day turns to evening
has always been under my sore feet, from birth to childhood to
now, ashes.
if this was handwritten you wouldn’t be able to make it out,
my scribbles dipping up and down like the wake that follows a ship, a requiem for  
aquatic self, aquatic selfhood, aquatic selfhood decomposed into molecules of salt
and molecules of water, NaCl, H2O, forever, etc, being stirred
and spiraled into who i could be, and who i never will be, until at last
the seaweed overbears me and i choke.

The wakeful crimson spiderwebs,
Creep slowly to the golden rim of irises.
Red gloom explodes into the rot of exhaustion.
Sights scream in twilight, baying for dark curtains,
To envelop them in a cocoon of nurturing rest.

Keep pushing on, the cracks began to cackle.
Thunderous youth begins to flicker with new age.
White hot spring of passion, curdles in purple toxicity.
To be a walking corpse, dancing the days ensemble,
But deep within the bones, finality screams 'enough.'

Sweet slumber, always on the edge of tomorrow.
Won't you whisper this dreadful soul a lullaby.
Soothe the aches of day & age, slay this disease,
Burn away time, and exist in ecstasy.

As drops descend from his face, rolling past his heart to be soaked up by whoever might pass underneath

Blanketed in a wispy layer of mist
he grips her hand tightly

Wanting to get up from the place he’s been anchored to for so long but not ready to
The dull sinking feeling that resides over him, pushing him further and further deeper

into the surface

These absent buildings clinging around only setting him in his place,
at the edge of perception

What is left of his mind begins to drift, leaching out like a plague of activity across a circuit board

And exactly like a switch, he finds something she hid inside of him
An incendiary note, left
Time itself seems to stop for a moment,
sparking from him

Setting her soul ablaze
so vibrantly scorching her existence

And so, I stand
In witness

Of such an ethereal sight
and see
just the smallest details

where drops turn to streams and paralysis turns into a rigid tremble

Managing to unclasp his hands from where they were
he shivers

Placing his hands onto the pavement
unfamiliarity seeping out his fingertips and spilling

the snow melting softly around him

Unknowing of where exactly I am, he tries to compose himself
But he doesn’t notice that his legs have gone unused for so long

Struggling to stand like a newly born lamb he stumbles
thankful for the absence of those buildings

His breath unconcealed in the spiritless atmosphere
Caution in the wind veiled by snowflakes

falling

Just like before, the sheets of ice lay atop, varnishing what seems to be a landscape of optimism
Obscured by crimson flesh and soft chimes of melancholy that resonates within him,

a sun rises

He begins to stand
The mist circling his feet, trailing him as he makes his way beyond the buildings

Beyond the colourless town
Beyond his travesty
His heart still so sharply yearning for what once was but couldn’t be
to something more

And here I stand
A distance so short

away from him

in an entirely parallel world
Watching him as he takes the first steps out of the mist
closer, and closer

he steps

his face, as cold as ice
detached from this harbour
transcending gradually into consciousness

I decide to put my reservations aside and reach out for him
the light piercing through his lifeforce
irises so profound

an abyss of magnificence
alluding to what could only be the unfaltering desire of inception
the temptations that captivate him
releasing him from where he once stood

and so he realises;
The snow is no longer dripped with red
and it is instead

an eternal springtime in his mind

enlightened
the new surroundings
curing him from the dangers of his thought
beaming with new hope

and for the first time

I see in clarity

an angels wings repair itself
from the depths of grief and desolation.

and then I weep.

For nothing could have prepared me for the sight of this journey.

DREAMS are illusions made up in our mind.
We usually spend a lifetime chasing but rarely ever find.
Fabrications of the way we want to be.
Just to wake to a harsh reality.
We Invision all these things we long to find.
Dreaming of this fantasy we make with our mind.
Why must we dream all this false illusion in our brain ?.
We wake again to reality just to realize we only self inflicted our heart more pain.
Dreams are merely a fabrication of an illusion of things that we will never do.
The make believe of a Happily Ever After, that never comes true.!
©kimmied1105

Lacy blue bra
strewn across the floor
of an empty apartment.
All is still -
only dust particles
float through the air,
undisturbed by human troubles.

Shades hang open,
streams of sunlight filter in.
The rainy dew
of yesterday's downfall
lingers still.

The scent of waffles
wafts up the stairs.
Visions of
blueberries and strawberries and whipped cream
fill the eyes, nose, and mouth -
salivating for more.

Eyes snap open.
A day begins once more.