This needle goes
Right through
My kevlar skin
Shooting
Essence of
You
Into my veins

I fall

This is
My escape

I turn slowly, shoulders wracked with the age of those thousand lifetimes;
aching with stagnation, burnt with indignation, swallowed in ghosts and grime; that lovely chime,
but in that time: what do I see behind me?
My eyes slowly focus, adjusting to the dark, to the shadow trail in my wake.
Burning pitch and sulfur; I wrinkle my nose; charred flesh and breaking bones.
The skeletons from the closet, catching up with me, ambling on their puppet strings,
singing those terrible songs they sing; the screeching of a broken violin upon their tongues.
That terrible rhythm
of an undying footstep; the way the hips rotate and the arch of the foot as it wears down to bone dust.
I see the eyes of the ones that once lived; in this fantasy castle in the airwaves with me, all regal indigo royalty.
I see the heart-wrenching blue, the bedroom eyes, the reflection of you.
But I am alive to destroy your shadow, as it wrenches itself, gasping breath in, rattling moan out; across the floor, dying for more; for a taste of what you once had when we were living.
I see the docile hazel, hands outstretched in a gesture of love; but those fingers, rot and broken, they long to touch; and I burn, burn, burn the shadows away.
Across my shoulders the ink holds true, and I'll never discard the pictures of you; all they were, before this doomsday parade. Of all our hands held and the smiles we stretched beyond those hollow cheekbones.
I see the rich sapphire and its pseudo wisdom; of new ages and spirit bonds. Reaching out to grip my soul, a fierce and fine swerving; of tight and loosened bolts.
And again, the soulless ice; the pressure on the sternum.
Flash; I swing the rusted axe, I pull the silk trigger; sweet charcoal grip against my fingertips.
The fog on the windows, the notes hung on the filthy, deep air.
Flash; I pull back the taut string; whoosh the arrow flings, the stone tip sings.
And again they groan and grumble; moan and froth and fling their bodies forward,
and I turn once more, facing the speeding stonework floor as it passes,
my footsteps crash in the straining silence; face forward:
What do I see behind me?
I will never look again.

when I first saw his true beauty,
his smile
his eyes
and his soul,
it made me remember lovely little things
like being madly insane
or being crazily obsessed with the same
eyes
smile and soul
and I soon then realized
love came to strike again


m.b

Insanity Is the comfort of a pillow, used for suffocation.
Insanity Is the warmth of a gun, used for a death shot.
Insanity Is the enabler,
The barrier breaker,
The undertaker.

Insanity Is a safety zone.
Insanity Is a shield.
Insanity Is a guard for all to take part in it,
All who brush with it,
All who dwell in it.

Insanity Is the abstract thoughts, the rotund ways.
Insanity Is the thought that you can do anything.
Insanity Is the fact that people can question, can insult, can pry,
And they never seem to affect you,
And they never will.

Insanity Is a soft room, padded with cushy walls.
Insanity Is a group of people, who try to figure out what's wrong.
Insanity Is not quite knowing what's going on,
Having that privilege,
Having that power.

Insanity Is engulfing, a single being in itself.
Insanity Is the process of losing yourself.
Insanity Is the way you go when you just seem to snap,
Lucky enough to see nothing,
Lucky that everything goes black.

Wrapped in a sensitive shadow of frozen alphabets
They engrave an intimate definition of private insanity
Quiet tremors freeze an unknown violence
Leaving to eyes to bury the dregs of scarlet shame

insanity is using the comfort of a pillow for suffocation