we were just small children so we didn’t quite understand what father meant when he said
“mother is sad”
we continued our games and make believe stories and waited for mother to be happy
and when we were young, sad just meant someone stepped on your picture
or they ruined your sand castle
and in 2 seconds it was over
the deeper I fall into my depression I find my mother
I find her ghouls and her ghosts
I find her dark eyes in my dark eyes every time I look in the mirror
and I find her hatred for everything, including me
I find new ways to torture myself
“you have your mothers eyes”
we also have the same disease
the only difference is, her demons won
mine don’t stand a chance
Days, stretching to infinite proportions,
a gnarled oak, stark white against the cerulean sky,
distorting and twisting within itself,
aching to be complete, still, silent.
Nights, a lone swimmer's watery nightmare,
caught in the depths, darkness yanking feet down,
yearning to break the surface -
Howling and shrieking at an empty door
locked from the outside
to protect trembling walls
Is this who we've become?
Mindless drones who've arrived at the future,
cursing the past?
You overtook us swiftly, still trembling with rage,
your vise-like fingers softly caressing,
embracing our fragile necks,
each second drawing us closer to the final countdown,
knowing, but never quite comprehending
that we can never escape your cold lair.
And you -
peering down at us,
stumbling through this labyrinth;
blind mice, oblivious to our demise -
you will reveal everything
Memories scattered like driftwood are
dispersed into oblivion by feisty currents
frolicking with these heavy stones
Linger with me in this timeless quiescence;
gingerly pluck teardrop intricacies
from my ebony-dusk saturated hair
In our secret place obscured from judging eyes
No one shall know our names, though even so
names are quite obsolete in this dance of old
Don’t look back, lest you transform into all we abhor;
Cold, unfeeling, settling heavily to the bottom
Clawing - always clawing - but unable to grasp redemption
We must hurry, though, for the tide is rising.
And we’ll be gone before they can even think
of stealing us away.
Categorizing these emotions is
as fruitless and unsatisfying
as dislocating sounds
All elements are fluid, shifting;
blurred beyond recognition
this furious synergy of molecules
you stumble across, but never quite grasp
all dimensions of this vast
abstract acoustic environment
flourishing with uncultivated sounds
struggling to make themselves known
indeterminate, unpredictable as rain
He calls himself Peter Pan and he's looking for a new Neverland.
I feel him watching me thinking that I can't see.
But the shadow that he can never quite catch always winks at me when he leaves.
I turn to sneak a peak but I always find he's already looking at me.
I wonder how one can be young for eternity.
Wouldn't it get rather lonely?
I saw him again and he finally said "hello."
It was timid and shy but on the inside he's wild.
I couldn't help myself from my toothy smile.
There was nothing to say but "It took you a while."
We are going strong Peter and I.
In my ear he'll whisper sweet nothings and desire.
I'll just smile and kiss his pink lips.
Because what's left to be desired when you live eternally fighting pirate ships.