#mechanism
I tried to resurrect you in every thought I had
I tried to connect through words on a notepad
I have tried to let go of the sad
I tried every coping mechanism I had
...you weren't even a good dad...
©2024
Jul 15, 2024
Jul 15, 2024 at 11:15 AM UTC
hand cranked
re-imagined 35mm slides
Rough Trade posters
on the wall
Pepsi and premade sandwiches
on the counter
aperture: wide open
he sees her often at the multiplex
there she flirts
from the third row; second seat
sheer blouse
hands in elliptical motion
pointing toward
silk chiffon shells
the invite in a tilt of her mouth
lip; gloss
eyes hidden from the light
a prayer before intermission
celluloid reliquary
reveals God's plans
lest her trifling with him
cause a miss in changeover
enraging his self-regarded audience
the walk back to his car
one long montage of her lacing up
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 10:02 AM UTC
The illusionist drawls,
"Choose wisely", fanning his cards,
and she, eyeing Five of Cups,
POPS her bubblegum, chooses
"You", deciding that the imp
who claims he's not an archetype
is merely the reversed Hermit.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC
you really make me wonder
ALL of the time
how much you really love me
if it's all just an act
for a gain that I have not yet been able to place
but sometimes
i can imagine
usually though I freeze
a strange thing happens
possibly a defense mechanism
to protect me from a wonderful man
who may break me the way i've been broken before
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
Shards scatter the kitchen floor;
Joel Adams plays through the radio.
Hearts chained down, wrists throbbing.
Phantoms appear, knocking the lungs empty.
He?--She?--Them; they appear on the table,
where guests are supposed to sit. The counter,
the couch, the bedroom (where guests are not supposed to be).
(But you reminisce, they're not guests anymore.)
The shelves are cold--freezing even, like a snow storm
has passed by. Not only that, but the pillows, notebooks,
that spot on the floor, the jacket, their mug.
Every single thing they've touched, it freezes every time,
and it stays.
Yearning for warmth no longer there.
Fire no longer burns, heat but a necessity.
But there is eternal warmth in the body;
the blood. The kitchen is scattered with shards of
mug, and where warmth is found in blood, fingers
squeeze onto pieces of glass.
Once again, it is warm, it is relief.
You feel warm again.
But where blood and body meet, there is no end nor beginning.
Where there was, there is.
(It's always been like this.)
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 9:32 AM UTC
Who is the angel
Who found you living lifeless
The angel that never seems to break
The angel that stands beside you
Who is the angel
Who gives you life
and always wipes your tears?
The angel that sews your broken heart
The angel that fights your fears
The strongest bridges appear unbreakable
But they withstand the greatest stress
and bulletproof glass will take the shots
But only just so many,
and you might not see it coming
but it will break when it is bombed
The angel will always take your chains
And rest them on their shoulders
They'll smile at you when you're okay
And tell you not to worry
But don't forget, the angel is human too
Despite their amazing strength,
and even though they never cry
Their eyes mask the blood of warzones
The angel will always take your chains
Even when they cannot hold them
And the angel will do so until they break,
so that you can always smile
So go find the angel that never cries
Hug them, and say I love you
And you could be the angel
when the bulletproof is bombed
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
Steer clear of malice;
To speak of arrows tipped in actuality and respond justly toward malignity.
Lest I fall under the gaze of malice becoming putrid within.
Heavenly Father above.
You paved the way to a damaged youth yet,
Almost commonplace to allow surrogate protectors,
Crawl inside my flesh only to be spat back out once again.
I realise I am not but the woman I thought myself to be;
Only an interchangeable piece in the mechanism.
A piece in the mechanism,
Intertwined between countless souls on the way of my path.
By Lana
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
I am living in a capsule
I am shielded from outside forces,
hurting
pain
and
sallow emotions
these are orange
I am shielded by this boundary
that my mind constructed
A prisoner to my own ways
forever defending me
from your
rude
and stabbing
jagged jars
and your
sharp
and jarring
warnings
these are red
it may sound nice
that I am immune
this is blue
But the privilege of the good emotions
all the
warm
and happy
delicious laughs
which are yellow
I no longer have
because I am a prisoner
of cause and effect-
you cause and I deflect
Now I am an outsider on the inside
forever watching all the colors
as they
bounce off my capsule wall.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
how much trauma can fit
inside of you between the gaps
before your nerves begin to fail
and your ventricles collapse;
a leash pulling your thoughts
behind a barbed wire fence
a muzzle to control your words
as a last line of defense;
a defective, broken down body
stemmed from a tortured mind
equals an futile unfinished sculpture
with a hollowed out inside
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
the silence becomes the loudest in the middle of the night when safety is no longer an option.
it becomes the enemy when you're trying to sleep, push everything away to get some peace.
it's the thing that turns you from blue to red in the blink of an eye.
turning you into a whole new mechanism.
an animated, drooling, beast of rage.
you can try to claw your way out, but there's always something in the way of getting rid of the revolting, wet, anger that boils in the cavity of your sternum.
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC
Wash your hands before leaving.
Every afternoon the television would have a woman in tears
Spanish dialogue, pastel colored sets
Tongue in cheek, modern romance sipping iced tea by the pool
The antagonist wearing a suit and three rings on each finger
Pause.
Soap bars are made of fat, the grease found in
Breakfast diners and sweat off a teenagers face
The lipids turning gelatinous and all I can think of is
Jell-o; the strange colored dessert that doesn’t taste like anything real
My hands begin to itch and I stand up
Wash your hands before leaving.
My hands have become open desert, dry animosity
The skin around the knuckles is delicate, one clench of a fist
I am sure that it will tear, like the skirt of a girl I once knew
But there are creatures lurking everywhere
In the handle of the bathroom door, in the shake of another hand
In the touch of a frame, in the grip of a key
Wash your hands before leaving.
The scattered murmurs on the screen remind me its 5p.m
The women are arguing with their manicured hands
Their eyes all having the same spidery lashes, spiders
I feel insects crawling under my bones
Termites clipping at my heels as I sit in this couch of horrors
I didn’t know the last time it had been washed
It smelled of the 1970’s and I want to go home
The babysitter is on the other chair reclined
Snoring, letting out bacteria through her mouth
At 8 years old I should be on the floor with a coloring book
My lips are dry, the screen is too bright, I can feel the filth everywhere I turn
So I stay
I hear the door knock and it’s my mother picking me up after work
My lungs sigh of relief
Time to go
But first
let me wash my hands before I leave
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 8:07 PM UTC
She loved the world too easily,
She had no way of knowing
That life will wait to strike you down
When your soft side is showing.
She gave of self, such sacrifice
And when little else was left,
Twas cast aside most heartlessly
Left broken-down and so bereft.
Now bitterness her sword and shield
She wields with silent fervor,
And keeps her love from light of day
And those who don't deserve her,
And trust, it seems, the stuff of dreams,
She's buried far too far down,
In self-defense, it makes no sense
To ever let your guard down.
She has forgotten how to love
As she did way back before,
Before heartache had worn her down
Until she could take no more.
Perhaps someday she'll find a way
Her heart can again be free,
Til then, trust seems the stuff of dreams
Of some faded yesterday.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 2:03 AM UTC
am I hard to please?
or are you just
insufficient
a machine, out of order
you've come to do less
for me
than I've done
for you
like a machine,
I will put you away
for someone else
to use
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC