I have people to support and impress and make proud
I don't have the time or funds to afford breaking down
So don't take me seriously when I consider the knives too long
I'm an adult now, won't use the pain, am convinced it's wrong

But I do bleed pretty.

I bleed deep red, it's mesmerizing, stains the floor and bed
I bleed like molasses, slow drops hit the ground like lead
I crackle like a fireworks display, bubble up into vertigo
My vision gets hazy and the colors smear and the light glows

But everything gets better and I'm completely reformed
I'm no longer lonely or depressed or feeling unbearably worn
I don't choke back sobs when I'm in a crowd or at home
I don't stare at nothing and feel impossibly alone

But I do bleed pretty.

Now, I'd never touch a knife, never would go back to those days
When blood meandered down my arm in a thousand different ways
I'd never think twice, never consider diving into pain
And no knife on earth calls with a sugar-sweet whisper of my name

I am happy in what and where I've chosen, would never trade
I have no second thoughts, regrets, no uncertain days
I enjoy life, can't begin to fathom why I ever wanted it to end
I am satisfied with the lack of people I have to call friends

But I do bleed pretty.

A drop on the floor becomes a puddle so fast it intrigues me
One towel becomes four, it still smells like copper, isn't clean
The sound of a blade gently coaxing skin apart is bliss
Only heard when blood rushes in and out and all is quiet.

I do bleed pretty.

Iron chains rub my skin raw,
Keeping me safe.
From what? Help;
Pulling me down,
Keeping me down.

Teach me to bleed,
Rich, thick, red.
Scarlet for lust,
Scarlet for love.
Scarlet for the pain,
For the burns left by your fingers,
So indirectly, free from blame.

I can be better,
I can bleed better.

Open me,
Enter me.
I can bleed better.

Push me down,
Gag me.
I can bleed better.

Hurt me,
I am begging - help, wait;
Give me more,
Give me everything.
Teach me to bleed for you.
Wait, stop;
No more.
Force me down,
Smother me.  
Please,
Teach me to bleed for you.
*No more.

Ocean,
If you can have a vision of riding with the tides, do it and bring ideas of new creations?  In your hardest and darkest times when you see things for what they really are created for, where do we go from here.
Who you see in your thoughts will give you the strength to never stop trying. Make sure to never forget.
The ocean is a neverending cycle on the outside with the changes in time. And, the inside of the ocean is a  deep sea with a world of many different life forms. No, we are not alone.
The ocean can send out soothing wave sounds that cradle you back and fourth for eternity.  Are they messages from the unknown? Is it the before's and are we the after's?
Playful taps on my back, keep still and listen, and listen, and listen to the wrestling and beating sounds of the ocean, so cold to the touch. Is it a passing storm?  
Do you think or do you just have a quick reaction to where, when and how? The ocean controls the pounding roars, and splashes salty water on your face' that awakens you from your dreams.
Breathing in the fresh breezy ocean air is a antidote to living life, with every breathe you wash away all your fears.
With rushing waters drifting deep into the ocean, waterfalls and birds chirping , taking back the moment in times.
Was it a make believe dream?
Or, just one person's dream? Along the shore further away from a day dream, is the reality that will last until eternity.
The ocean, so cold and silent, it shows you the beauty of the storm from within'
The eye of the storm, do you see what brings me back to this place I truly miss. Every time I leave the ocean, I keep you  in my heart always close to me, where you belong.
For the ocean is endless, deep and can reach the point of no return' Far, far away you will go, did you find your way back?

i.

Next to the seashore
Of Boracay beach;
Seahorse's oscillate
To the turquoise seep.

ii.

Dawn turneth dusk
As the firefly's light;
The hole's in the sky
Burning brightly, heaven's sight.

iii.

Mine inamorata valentine
Covered in seasalt salve;
Out of the deep blue
She arise's from the shell's.

v.

Walking toward's me
Coming mine way;
We lay upon ourn blanket
Whilst cuddling, reminiscing the day.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

swim until you can’t see land

until names etched deep in cardiac tissue blur

and fade, scored over with seasalt and creases of a million maps,

a secret stash of maps. absurd and hoarded and crumpled under carseats and

rolled neat

and boastful in umbrella holders or worse, framed and hung

Maps jotted freehand on napkins stained with tea and mustard and left

to be bused with the crusts and pocketful of change.

swim until you can’t read the maps.

the lines to here from there are arteries

on your fresh, clean heart.

The last words of an upstart
Coming into their own
Feels like the heart stopped but the fire has grown
Wild and strange
Bristles with energy
****** expression unchanged
The face of adversity might’ve put on some weight
Surface unearthly
Distorted and framed in odd spotlight
Reflection is way beyond my means but I’m alright
The waves stay unchanged
Adamant in resolve and I’ve learned from the same mix of granite and seasalt
Great leaps come grand skyfall
I wish you sun rays
          Sometimes I even wish I could stay
But we have our own fates
They clashed for a time but now we part ways
Just til the next time our paths cross and blaze trails across the skyline









                                                ­        Whirlwinds and paradise
                                                        ­Never missing the heartlines
                                                      ­  Forever kissing the starlight

“As old as man,
Way back before the past…”
Said by the historian in the perpetual cemetery,
His book and ours open on the same blank page
“What is to become of us,
we are just memories of sound in a silent room”


The image of man
Tearing down his own tower of babel
with an “Eloi!, Eloi!” to himself
Grasping at the light
Without thought of the fire
All felony and no fingerprint
forever

And I watch
And I watch
And after my illness, I walk alone
And notice the words of children
collecting sun in a bucket

To 80 years from Spanish misery
To Syrian sand and tears
Mixing with the shores of ****** and Liverpool, London and Lemuria
Nothing gathered
Nothing gained

We slip further into the walls of parliament
Slip into the walls of web, corridors of code
And hear of occultist cataclysm
and those so intelligent all before them is dismissed
(“eloi, eloi, I am eloi!”)

In cold grey-green bathrooms
of flatblocks or apartment buildings
licking seasalt and gunpowder
from the fingers of our Atlantic cousins
In human skin suits

Sadness is blowing all across the sidewalks here. This town is an old scar, worn on the arms of too-tough teenage skinheads. I don’t belong here anymore.
I tried to become someone who fades into the background here, just another curly head in a sea of Texas hair, but I’m too different to be the same. I come from water, brownstones, and seasalt air. I don’t belong here anymore.
And so I write letters back to Boston and empty homesickness into little paper cups, saving it for later. I can be alright here, growing up and meeting people I could’ve never imagined, if I want it. The question is, do I? I feel like I don’t belong here anymore.

Did I ever?

"The sea cannot be his, cannot be his. The sea cannot be his."

He woke up on her side of the bed, an echo pounding down deep in his head. "The sea..."

He reached for the bottles he kept within arm's reach - as he struggled to twist off the first cap, his key keeper knocked on the door before walking in a breakfast tray elegantly arranged. A feast for two.

Although by now the knocks had become mute, this one was as different as yesterday's, carrying the sound of hope. A flash flood of memories filled his head. He thought of what he would say only to drop the bottle of pills, cursing under his breath as the door slowly opened.

His heart bled a little bit. The room darkened - the pound in his head returned bringing him to a rage of black tears. He tasted salt. It burned more than the tip of the tongue, corroding his pride before clinging like oysters to his vocal cords, blocking his airway.

His keeper entered the room in goose feather gloves and goose feather shoes - setting down the tray, she picked up each pill from the floor and bed and pointed to a letter-sized envelope sitting on one corner of the tray. "This one came early this morning."

He picked up the envelope, held it up to the light of the keeper's eyes and then brought it to his nose. Taking in more than a few breaths, he fell asleep.

The sea...

He sat on the rocks of Gibraltar. He crossed the sea with his eyes before resting them in the dim light of the old light house.

Breathing in waves, exhaling seasalt and fear, he opened the envelope and began to read.