There are times where I don't have to
carefully construct metaphorical honey glaze
I can just slide my mottled skin from out
of this tagged and tattered shell
and say, "I'm just as thirsty as any of you"
These strange dichotomies, of shyness and openness
hatred of self, and longing to lift the self up to heights
craving peace, yet seeking disorder
If my cells could vote
there would be a recount
and then another
and another
another
perpetually cyclical self-realization.
Such a frustrating way to absorb you,
through the intuitive tunnels
clogged with judgmental plaque
and grimy windows
that only allow flushes of dusty yellow
to emit.
Loneliness bites, yet I seek the wisdom
only blessed by meditation
and introspective psychedelic meanderings.
Lovers split your ribs, yet my eyes quest
endlessly for you.
These strange dichotomies,
pepper and salt my atrophic throat
until I entertain a curious gaze instead.

empty halls, blackened walls
scream agonising sentences,
trite, decadent remembrances
of atrophic assignations.

mordancy bled, **** fed,
ambling in broken cadences,
blind, lamenting abhorrences
of amaranth self abortions.

dead lives, deafening cries,
abating for audiences,
raising voided condolences,
waltzing to pointless abscissions.

eclipsed halls, barren walls:
prelude to atrophic assignations

Veins full of drought
early cages for my demons,
huming currents blow
through these blackend wrinkles,
cracks of atrophic mud.
A force from above
keeps pushing me your way,
but I’m vividly hiting the ground
like a feather fallen from your wings,
or a chord that can never touch you,
like an ice cube left sober into your last glass,
or a dream you won’t recall,
as your eyes unfold
to ennoble and delight the day…
life, again, never puts me at ease
only teases me about what I’m not…
I’m a contradiction of lines
persistently dying inside,
bleeding out to death
but just for the Joy
that now I know.

With sense, and summer's scent, heart sinks,
Another boon of fairy's whims and eye, methinks,
Intrepid scars fall on porcelain skin,
And curs'd lips talk of holds worn thin,
Of grasps too close, faces pressed in
To chests but soft, its longing cheek,
Atrophic want like loves do lovers seek.
But freed the lover's laden list,
Release the flowing lover's tryst,
...
Bruised, and bloodied, with toothless grit
The fearless lion's faces it.
My timeless body, strewn before you,
Revealing all it has to give,
And relinquishing all that's left to live.

An atrophic fold in the waist -
A victim of Consumption.
An entropic mind is a waste,
And wasting away alone, I lie still
Over the sheets, naked.
The dystrophic limbs,
pins and needles and numb lips,
All the lonely night can be is the stave-off of sleep
And the starving of self -
From my eyes my spirit leaps,
But tonight, time is set, and fate is set,
And my face is set for spirit’s rest.

Poetry fails me. And I it.

Love has torn me. The final bit.

No longer human, no longer sane.

You dug the grave; a hellish pit.



You named it love. You drank the dirt.

Called me a lady; groped for my skirt.

But a fantasy’s a fantasy and we die.

I am ugly but so is your shirt.



Dry a dream. Fry a heart.

A mind atrophic; a lonely start.

Live in a corner and die a hero.

Save yourself; you’re so smart.



Poetry fails me.

And I it.

Open your eyes.

It’s not rain, it’s spit.

Your ego hurt
Your vagueness
Still haunts
Somehow these lies and these shadows

Don't remind me of the darkness of dystopia
A crazy nation always to the end
Apocalyptic isn't it if had an atrophic heart
Breaking louder than bombs

The streets rife with your memories
The cars collect all your people in your life
Hijacked by the acquaintances in your life
You've lost your son

And you fell down like an empty
Empty pricked balloon
The stress haunted your dreams like tireless tension
That pulls you apart like a rubber band

At the waist with a cummerbund
Becoming the best man felt like a dream
And the girl's gone and the scheme is over
You've settled with your mind games

That you have to move on
With these right ways