Blood searing my veins
Cauterizing countless lacerations
My wounds seep with
The acidic taste of my life
I sit-
Unaware of my soul
Leaking out every pore
Dripping slowly away
The greedy
Cracked concrete
Drinking up my essence
Until all I am left is
Tranquility

Turning a blind eye to the dark clouds
Looming over the horizon
Lightning lashing across like whip
Loud crackle and the thunderous roar
Lightning strikes with archer’s precision
Hitting the target with a vengeance
Cauterizing life in a matter of seconds
Zeus, unleashing the thunderbolt
So much rage in the Ether
Punishing relentlessly with nature’s fury
Now the clouds break loose
Intense darkness shrouds over the day
Clouds have opened up with running streams
As it washes away all the agony
It opens the eyes to an invigorating event
Replenishing the parched Earth
Waterfalls and rivers flows with life
Nature calms after the ferocity, bringing hope

one person said: "peace is nothing but illusion
all I want is retribution"
[from "Pure Power" by Zardonic]
that's something I can identify with, which is why
I decided to write this heap of lines
————————————————————————————————
on a shooting range in a boondock la[ɛ]nd
with gloves pU̲t on; sta[ɛ]nd
in front of an autocratic ruler chained
by his hands to two moola safes'
[greed]
handles looking way
like an old-fangled car directing wheel
[steering wheel]
have this die-hard fool restrained
so that he, more or less, is still
I'm not a scho[ɑ]lar who can wave
around a degree in the medics field
but it's obvi this high-hat dO̲U̲chebag's plagued
with megalomania in a neglected condition
but there's a dreadfully effectual treatment
and he'll get it like villains
quite a gruesome fate
is looming upon this power-befuddled ****
like darkened clouds that, beyo[ɑ]nd a doubt, are soon to rain
["dark end"]
like waveriders, he's go[ʌ]nna serve
["surf"]
as a punchbag for I'm in quite a mood to raze
gonna wI̲nd up as nada short
of a ****** loon today
like Battinson, clepe me Vengeance
but I'm more something like the Zorro-looking caped
anti-autocratic vigila[ɛ]nte
from the Norsefire-ruled UK
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
meets someone whose work field's tormenting
like victimizers who pertain
to LE in one tsar-sized off-putting state
[law enforcement]
you know, the one that's go[ɑ]t a putrid trait
of always posing as a side you shouldn't blame (it's all the West!)
(now, let's go back to the foul autocrat)
like a jerky boss that you disdain
I give this no[ɑ]b a cool g'day
by douching him from a bo[ɑ]ttle full of straight-
-fro[ʌ]m-a-cooler H2O; just a fE̲w secs break
for him, & once it's U̲p, I ****** this base
being fro[ʌ]m a stE̲wpot great
with **[ɑ]t-a## noodles aimed
into this hU̲mbug's stupid face
[the "hang noodles on the ears" expression]
pepper it with some ground 7-po[ɑ]t to boost the taste
feel how I, like a husband who betrayed
his devoted, yet testy, wife, get rudely gazed
at, racked, beda[ɛ]mned (by who?)
by food-lacking men from Africla[ɛ]nd
[Africa]
ask him: "is the provided food okay?"
zero gratitU̲de displayed
all that comes from this sno[ɑ]t's bazoo's complaint
but nO̲[ɑ]t that I'm surprised
a typical pro[ɑ]sperous gobshite
the tack priorly applied
I do the same with a bucket full of maroonish paint
[autocrats have blood on their hands, hence "maroonish paint"]
like that music producer famed for dull future bass
I put on his viscous head a **** bucket
[Marshmello]
whereafter pick a wedge up & drum it
[golf wedge]
and, like a heap, I barely get started
[worn-out car]
like an unprepped passenger on an insane car ride
with no seat restraints applied
he's about to have a way hard time
I'm a cosmetic surgeon that operates part-time
fix his blamed jawline in just twain sharp swipes
with a steel bat, then yield some keen slaps
that meet his kneecaps until the knees snap
like the Baba Yaga hitman detached
from his peaceful life by someone ge[ɪ]tting him mad
[John Wick]
get his nails removed
which is pretty much the same that you do
when you repaper a room
[wall nails]
having perforated his fingertips
I ge[ɪ]t 'em plastered
a few minutes later, I rip them things
off 'kin/sim. to wax strips
he gets his phA̲[eɪ]lanxes smitten with
a freaking ratchet
[rathet wrench]
pro[ɑ]b'ly, he regrets
that his bo[ɑ]dy's still not dead
pick U̲p a pistol, set
a drum-like clip in, get
it cocked, then shoot lead around his silhouette
till the clip has zero ammunition left
seems like this once co[ɑ]cky piece of dreck
has gotten his khaki chinos wet
but if I've go[ɑ]t him in a sweat
like a summer jo[ɑ]gger being dressed
in venthole-deficient threads
for this brash dude, there's bad news
like me when I write some sick bloodshed
sadly for him, I've not finished yet (uh-uh)
like a runner that's go[ɑ]t some distance left
to complete, & it's not as dark as things can get
'cause, like the heroine o[ʌ]f M. Streep in "Death
Becomes Her" after falling fro[ʌ]m that string of steps
I've got a somewhat twisted head
[Madeline Ashton; the staircase fall scene]
so consider this as an insult-to-inju[—]ry sesh
grab a brace of scissors
for garden mainte[—]nance; Richard
Trager comes into play; begin ta
amputate his fingers; operate at leisure
disarticulate 'em I̲nto twenty eight **** pieces
cauterizing the remains with illuminated cI̲gars
fling into his piggish face some tissues
and some pain relievers
tell this nazissistic patient "hE̲A̲l up"
["****" in the sense of being "severely intolerant or dictatorial"]
let him relax for eighteen minutes
over the spa[ɛ]n of whI̲ch I put on play "La Chica
Rockabilly" & some other ro[ɑ]ckabilly
jams to make the whole vibe a mite less grisly
like an NA brown bear that is gravely injured
["mightless grizzly"; North American]
(as, in fact, this tragic-fated bleeder)
whereafter spray him with a
["wither"]
can of gas & make his dicta—
—torial a## go ablaze akin ta
a straw-fabricated figure
during gala days at the late of winter
[Maslenitsa effigy]
telling this piece of trash "in case you wI̲[ɪ]nd up
in somewhat of Hades, give a
warm shalom to the infamous ******"
consider this autocratic ****
a sugar daddy's skirt
'cause he's gotten what he was asking for
————————————————————————————————
oh, & one thing more to say: the
nullified, like ruler's presiding terms, dictator
was known among some as "toilet sprayer"
like a scuttered urinator

dedicated banishment
self inflicted, echoing
physical displacement
from permanent coronary scarification
devouring accidentally my lacerated pulmonary edema
cauterizing weakness into cement
thermodynamically frozen muscles

umbrellas on parade in your city
netherworld for my regret
disreputable raincoats rubbery ebbing
against a tide of discontent
ringing out like let-downs

It was the middle of December and you made sure to turn on your fan before you went to sleep.

It was the beginning of January and I suddenly understood why you kept your fan on as 'I love you' rolled out of your mouth like the smoke that loomed over Pompeii. You choking on your own words was a red flag. I guess the smoke was too thick for me to notice.

It was February and the lava began scorching my fingertips with each muffled 'I love you.’ Some people tried to run, I chose to melt to death.

It was March and I was hoping you were only cauterizing my wounds, protecting me from something more harmful. I was wrong. Nothing is more harmful than a natural disaster.

It was April and you had cremated me to ash. I realized your false ‘I love you’s were what caused the tectonic plates to shift.

It is May and I am still reminiscing on January.

In June I hope the fan in your room keeps you cool enough from the volcano that you are.

We played blackjack taco until the early mourning sun singed the obsidian sky into submission 

singling the onslaught of dawn rising like ravishing wildfire over a horizon of jagged glacier crafted mountains peaked with diamonds coal and gold

We flipped stacks and stacked flips
Pushed coins and collected IOUs
Spilled ink and broke pens

Too many hours in the Night Jazzing about youth and the repercussions of aging in a time when aging was an agonizing sin we cured with creams and needles

The table was deliberately a mess with scattered tea leaves half smoked sticky icky sticks full of inspired inspirations, drained drank empty wine bottles and other alcoholic deviances, and incoherent ramblings cauterizing the senses 

uncompleted poems full of scribbled and scratched out words poke out from anyplace not covered  by crumpled  origami cash resting like a weird paper green zoo of swans frogs and paper airplanes.

The suns rays manage to find that one area in between the window shades and curtains to shine brilliantly into our darkly kept stygian tomb

Illuminating a night of lexicon ******, broken handed betting, and passion only poets and writers aspire to conquer

We rubbed out our sleepless crusted eyes and gathered our ink stains and haunted dreams and left into the morning that we found in some skeletol low rent motel room on the side of this deserted desert highway...

Break
my <3

&
I'll
break
your
******’ spine.
I'll curb
stomp
your mind
right back into
the gutter
it was hiding in.

&
I'll kick
your lie- leaking
teeth in.

Guess all the
Cut cauterizing,
Lemon- juice,
bathtubs
I bled-out
in.
Messed me up.

My bad for messing around
with
a ***** up.

we are not human
we are                     beyond
all that fits into strands of dna
we are a phone call away and just at the beginning
writhing with excitement that plays like anxiety. we are the nervousness
that turns the body right left and left right left before introducing us to becoming asleep. we are the narrative to the lives of others. our passwords don't match but I refuse to let popular radio dictate our lives. we've ****** ourselves red and sweet, cauterizing our moral wounds with *** and sensuality. we scuba dove in the bedlam of ***** intrigue where I drank the pulse of your fingertips into mid-morning blackouts.

I don't know what you do, but I bleed foreign tongues. I mince words and reconnect them, the Swedes would be proud. Inside the ribs, beyond our teenage skin, between us we are always something better going unchecked but never unnoticed. we have been enlightened, summoned, and have three unchecked voicemails that we will lie about listening to should we ever be confronted about it. I don't ever want to be readdressed by consciousness, I am unhappy there and here

                 the Power lines
Under

unto us both
we may never meet those quondam girl and boy bent by prurient looks

Minutes passing
Continual Eyeing
Pulse pumping
Heart Jumping

Fingers Tapping
Clock Watching
Vision Scanning
Anxiety Climbing

Clock Stopping
Sudden Stabbing
Heart Bleeding
Joy Fleeing

Thoughts Cauterizing
Time Healing
Well they weren't worth it
Anyway..............................JMF 10/11/14

In the incandescence of this empyrean nocturnal rhapsody

A remarkably rare yet, aureate creature appeared before me

From nightfall until daybreak she smoothly crooned an infinite array

Of enamorous symphonies to which I naturally could not abstain



A subtle spark of ardency was cast upon my sauntering pneuma

Inundating me into a catalepsy of which I zestfully fancied

Her charisma suckered me in with ease, illuminating my euphoria

Masquerading my pervasive mourning, cauterizing it to ashes



Each lyric alleviates the suffering that I have so hazardously acquired

Every note speaks to me in a language unknown to the community

The tasteful euphonies that perspire, carefully assuage my heart

I raised not a finger nor did I enunciate a single word or syllable



Her musical prowess completely squandered me with passion

Jauntily I danced to the cadence of the beat scouring my veins

Ceaselessly I could bathe in the essence of her bubbling sound waves

Never shall this finely crafted music pause, It shall remain on replay

There are barely memories left untainted
A childhood cut short
A trusting soul shredded with each stolen touch
Still now, after a lifetime of living,
Of forcibly refusing to be nothing,
Of overcoming everything
Remnants seep through the skin
From the depths of demon's lair
Distant cackles mock the resurgence of nightmares
Scouring pad scrubbies only removed skin
The stink of it remains
Filling every pore
Escaping in a sigh, infectious by design
Time heals nothing
It protects the broken pieces
Masking them behind affection & other surface emotions
The jagged edges of the memory of pain
Still violate innocence
Still ruin a smile before it is born
Used as brutal warnings,
They are jabbed straight through a heart trying desperately to heal
At the first sign of affection, the pain awakens
At the first sign of attachment, it skins the heart alive
Angered at defiance, it burns like molten metal
Scraping at the hardened crevasses of the mind
Searing pain in hidden dreams
Cauterizing the memories open
Reliving the blade time has dulled
Never allowed to love
Even if it's make-believe
Twisted sounds of tinkling music boxes
And the distant laughter of demons
CACKLE AND HISS
Cackle And Hiss
cackle and hiss
Muted into a familiar rhythm
Underlying the complacency of life
Only to scorch a soul into nightmares
When the heart dares to feel

you said you had never
seen a girl who could drink
***** straight from the
cheap plastic bottle
its slow burn cauterizing
my mental wounds
allowing me to feel
comfortable about my
self, my body
entwined in sticky arms
under
the covers

and i said
i was not as green
as my missing four years
would encolor me
flushing my cheeks-
bare, words bare-*****
on your bare chest
fingers weaving
reassurances
through firey hair

but what i kept
close, behind closed
chapped lips
forbid to let slip
from cigarette-
burned lungs
was that never
had i ever
been nestled
so
close
to another fledgling
and yet
it felt
so natural to me

I'll kiss you until your heart pounds,
clenches,
         throbs,
pumping embers through your veins until every capillary glows.

I'll kiss you 'til there is nothing but white hot pain
melting your lips,
         cauterizing your wounds,
                       until every hole in your heart is sealed.

And your ashes spell out my name.

My heart is trapped
Tapped by your venom
Cut with your idioms of imitation love
You were never capable of anything
Other than plunging your dagger deep within
Severing my veins of love, compassion, and self-worth
My spirit cried for you,
My heart sang for you,
Your eyes burned an inferno of kerosine
Calling mine beautiful
I was your magical creature
And you were my devil
You were an artist, carving
An intricate design of yourself on me
Cauterizing yourself within who I am
Just let me freeze
One day of being who I want without you
Never again do I want to see your face
Spelling your name in poems
Wishing you would disappear
I wish you nothing but...


My personal hell

What is it that makes me bleed profusely?
I search for this plank in my eye... sawdust?
Like the grains of sand and gravel, subtly,
We then subconsciously blink to adjust,
Avoiding an unfortunate sully.

Blood had spewed everywhere as if a splash!
Blinded and beneath waves of sultriness,
Boiling and cauterizing subtle wounds,
This juxtaposition of subtle pain.

Pain has always been subtle, always has.
Like the way your glasses broke into shards.
I have always known these fragments of glass.
Never blood, sand, gravel, sawdust, a plank.
But your subtle beautiful concussion.

I am an empty thing
hollowed out by time
devoid of your love

I am pulling you out by the roots
grabbing fistfuls of memories
burning away the dead flesh
cauterizing my broken skin

I will exterminate the spiders
making webs of all that you said

I will not be convinced again
not even by the phantom of you
that stayed when you left

In crisp, golden veined perfection
We accept your semi-sharp edge
You are not a harbinger of cold
But more a cauterizing cure for summer wounds
Without your tough love we would be blind sided
January would cut deep and quick
Pulling what breath remained into ice
Lungs frozen in mid-sentence
No, dear autumn, you are a rotten balm
Blanketing tender roots with the dead
No wonder we don masks in your beginning
Mourning the loss of those near and dear the day that follows
Morning walks become more brisk
A sweated brow welcomed with relief
From rosy cheeked breezes
A sun that no longer warms
Merely giving light for the coming darkness

With utter apathy
Atrocities spewed forth
Cauterizing the heart closed

A wind glides across the brow
A cauterizing of the brain has begun
A cool rushes forth and fills the body
Lips bubble out no words
Sensations no longer linger
A solemn pit fills your heart
Silence fills the soul

Buss, we must.
Death is with us.

Out in a cabin in the back
    woods once again
            
               what speaks louder that words
               are my words and the masses just whisper.
                                             Rabbits **** bears,
timber
exoskeletons
crack,                                ­         porcelain
                                                    und­erbrush
                                                    surre­nders,                          those red strings
                                                         ­                                        nudge me
                                                              ­                                   to acknowledge it,
the Shakespeareans are creeping in on purpose,

      i've tried too hard to please this hardwood floor.
                           Excuses:  I am--
                                                     --walking on the body of a
                                                               ­       violin
                                                   ­  --measuring the plucked
                                                       requirements of the craft,
                                                          ­                    a melodic one.
                                                     --forgetting my voice.
I met your envelope
                    of panic
switch--vapor lights
staring down on my skin.
                            Pink elephants
                     bound on crosses strung up in red
                                                  --you stitched their brick hearts.
                               I was welded
                                        to the screen door by the touch
                                                          of a                 one-way street,
epidemic voices are farming the cure for salvation before our cauterizing
                                                     ­                                                 muzzle flashes

                                                        ­                           --the outline of your fleeing justice.
I smell rain and why I fell in love with you,
                                                            ­                       --you never write when you're angry

Two dolls are walking with strings pulling them up, from a puppeteer that’s visible but outrageously anonymous. They are brothers and lovers and the world winds up around their feet daily. They have traveled this path as often as angels take flight. There’s glamour in being one of the deceased, but theydon’t know that yet.

“What’s mysterious about morning anymore?” they wonder as they trap the night in their eyes. Every star is swept to sleep with wishes and the world expands on their words. it’s before and it is after, but they don’t know that yet either. There’s a version of the truth to spark the start of tomorrow instead of the old lie of simple light. When your dreams dissipate in hazes they don’t just fade, they go off to entertain the maker. There’s a spider with eyes like crystal, purple cracked and glistening, in fragments like glass off-kilter to beams of lasers. Jewel toned rainbows rain from his steps and he dances across whatever is left of last night. Crepe paper demons scatter to the storm drains and drink of drowning sorrows, silk spun fairy men (quite transparent) stare through morning mirrors to collect the evening’s dramas, dew drop star stuff coagulates and washes phantoms out of flowers.  before this moment the lovers’ journey was eternal. until one doll looks left. his brother’s not in step and the rhythm can’t be kept. The first sign of stagnation is, of course, the yawn. Stain orange smear, violet lined and wild, the artist’s thumb caught up and jagged paths fly unfettered across it all. The color known as dawn dusts the frightened dolls. Canvas pale skin dipped in daybreak. “Who has broken forever?” they cry inside.


When the crack in millennia spills morning, they are known. then they know one another and their stride splits further and they scream at the rendering. Words are born of their agony and the first words are their names. Tsuki and Taiyo.

Taiyo is the father and Tsuki the mother of the light that is the progenitor of all.
“can you stay with me?” Tsuki conceives want and from it all suffering.
“I cannot.” Taiyo, the giver, the first king, powerless as all man thereafter.
“is it tomorrow?” ... the salty seas form in Tsuki’s eyes..
“they’ll never know it was you.” Taiyo holds his brother’s hands out to his sides and his shadow slips away and makes the dark.




the should-haves silence them but their trembling buckles the singular road. quakes open the star field and rivers of auroras blind the idle lord. oneness is lost and the immortality of always is severed by a
cauterizing strike of endless grief.


they’ll make it as magnificent as they can. for each other. but they’ll never be the same.

Do you believe in love at first sight?
The explosion of light in endless night.
A warm outpour of glow in the dark,
Yellow, pink, and green living sparks.
All raining down on a dying heart,
Cauterizing where it's been ripped apart.
Do you believe that hands can heal?
Filling spaces between fingers that refuse to feel.
Sending out a shock in a single caress,
Up the spine to a brain that must confess,
That feeling isn't so bad with someone other,
Touching the skin of an electrified lover.
Do you believe in the impossible?
An emotion so fierce and unstoppable.
Also soft in the most peculiar way,
Able to brighten the darkest days.
A feeling so great it could only come from above,
Do you believe in love?

step 1: don't.

we all know words are alcoholic,
they can burn and they can treat,
I've gotten drunk on a moment, on a kiss
on the thin waist of a working man--

there's no use in wishing, on changing substances,
you can't domesticate a bear and tell her not to hunt
hope water will disinfect,
treat with pages out of a book, stitch cuts with sentences,
we all know words wound as much as they heal
try cauterizing with ink or
bandaging with i love you
you'll quickly learn that you are not a healer, you are a bartender,
you serve the vices, flip the switch, change the songs, pick up the drunks,

turn water in whiskey? turn whiskey into water.
help a man, hold him close, wake up and make love
clear a table, clear a mind, open a door,
leave the glass.

I come
From the puddles of tears, mosaics of scars,
these glaring cracks in between
your perfect life,
mocking shadows cast by the street lights of
your corporate world.

I breathe
Fire, transforming rage,
lusting lips that
touch and dance
sing and bridge
cauterizing gaps in the heart and soul
melting between us.

I live
in the downtrodden, in the shame
of the man who made 2nd place again...
in your heart of hearts where
you weren't the one,
aren't desired, and
felt forlon

I dance
Where your fear consists only of
loving me not beating me,
kissing me, not calling me ***
listening, instead of hushing my
lips, excitement, heart -
most of all my spirit,
telling me who to be.

I am
A resuscitated catastrophe
trapped in this
prison of privilege and assumption
where affect is a key that opens doors
but can't get me out of this cell
without compromising
my identity.

I am.
I come.
I breathe.
I live.
I dance.

I am.

I want to thank you friends, wanna thank you family
for burning my dreams, filling me with verbal dysentery
my thoughts never hated, I'd hoped you'd known
If I'd gotten my own way all the people would be gone

they said they wanted freedom, said they wanted hope
so using chloroform I choked
their pretty little mouths, ignorant to the pleas
desperate panic running down their knees

I'm the god of extortion, of twisted violence and distortion
a pathetic lie, a ******* let down
sat atop the throne of shattered dreams,
rusty nails and surgical wire my makeshift crown

falling in love with thy blackened abnormality
cauterizing the exposed wound of human morality

they say God loves you, say he's always there
I say God disgusts me, he never ******* cared -
pariahs of false dreams, society's preaching rejects,
building holy structures of false promise and respect

the antithesis to every moral you've been told
if God were alive I'd shoot him lifeless, bang bang, cold

oh yeah I'm the designer of death, the superstar of disdain,
killing in the name of love so others never feel my pain.

Fight
INFLAMED AND RUSHED AND WHIRLED
In a torrent of change and ideas burning through all the paper
Burning books
Burning lines
Burning people

All the pain for all the good
As if nothing can matter
But that -
That if the kids no longer run
And the babies no longer wail - fear of being discovered
And are drugged and subdued
Like the minds of the rest -
Cruel cruel terror -
- Crippling knowledge -
The goal is lost
And the fight ends before it begins.

There is no defeat
As there is no victory

For the light is gone
And the point is blurred
As the ink splotches
And the pages, stained forever,
Sporting a dripping shame
The leaves of history shall therefore remain
Spotted and rotted
Festering and aching.

No cauterizing burn
Is deserved here.

The pressure pressing against the edges of his teeth,
The dry heat of jealousy pounding against his skull,
in the wake of such sensitive times,
he only wishes he would have gone cold before the wind blew his love in the direction of chance.
The hot needle burrowing through his brow,
searing apart flesh and bone
itching at his thoughts before cauterizing them away with hate he never thought he could feel towards the love he cherished.
The love he once felt so close to his heart he mistook it for his own.
The heart he found so bright and strong, he tried to light his way with the warmth he had found.
But the light only fell on the cold damp cave walls of his memory, reminding him that his path of warmth and comfort ends here and now,
before his journey could ever begin,
he would die here, alone.
In a dark cave, with the flickering light he held in his chest,
dimmer and dimmer.
the flickering finally, flicks  dark.
Cold, silent, black.
Splashing the darkness into every space it could fill.
Every space he thought he had filled with light.
Against his chest his fist pounded, trying so desperately to jump start the pump.
To kick the engine back into gear,
but the spark had left him cold and bare.
Naked in the lightless cavern of his thought,
reminding him that he has always been,
and always will be alone in the dark.

Illuminating the darkest chasms
Within the labyrinth
Of my mental construct

In the most lustrous colors
- You paint my soul;
with brush strokes unspoken of
heretofore & forevermore

I smoldered along the inferno
But you make me glow
Incisive as red hot knives
Cauterizing me to the hollow core

My twin flame personified
Guided by the Eye of Apollo
The fire crescendos bright but
Can we still burn tomorrow?

The comfort of being vulnerable
Something I’ve never known
Permeating the fabric of reality
From which we’re both shorn

In this abstraction I am magnetized;
Canvassed by your sanguine fashion
You’re a force of nature so I energize
Being your equal and opposite reaction

Mesmerized; when we synchronize
In utmost harmonious passions,
It intensifies the butterflies
Multiplying in my abdomen

Did I mention, my thirst for you is
Unquenchably vivacious? It’s like I’m Tantalus,
Stuck on the cusp & you’re the pool
I’ll always long to drink from

I crave your vibrations;
Sensations on strings which I hang on
-Your every word reinforces
The advances I can’t play off of

It’s not happenstance; Fates wove our path
Admirance enchanting our perspective
You’re in my reflection and suddenly
I’m projected to a different dimension

The sky splits then I’m wondering
If this is truly ascension
Flying on the wings of Icarus;
Longing to plunge your furthermost depths

Protection from reality
Leaving no immunity
From a cauterizing society

Once one accepts that one is healed,
one must now decide what to do
with all of the time one spent
striving for healing.

There is an enormous amount
of positive energy
that wants to do do do do.
It threatens to turn negative
if not managed properly.
It seems tangible;
feels more real
than a slap to the face.
And yet, when I look at it,
I see it is really,
and always was,
nothing.
It is within this field of play
so, only a matter of choice.
It’s a tool,
a resource,
not even a power.
I am the power.
I give the energy it’s charge
and the power it needs.
It’s nothing without me.
Don’t blame that thing
on an unseen outside force.
No other being took your hand
and made you do a thing
you didn’t make the choice to do.
To now stay healed,
without cauterizing the wound
and creating a huge keloid scar,
choose to watch the energies
float on by.

Who needs all these?
They’re only conjured up by demi-gods
who wished to play real God
in a make-believe bubble.
Every thing is clear now.
I can see right through.
You can just walk away from all this mess.
Slide off the whirlwind, roller coaster, slip-n-slide
of this ridiculous thing
we’ve fooled ourselves into believing is life.
I know you know what I’m talkin’ bout.
No other one can tell you
the thoughts you think with God.
Not even the person
you took yourself to be
so you could get along
in this ***** mirror image
of a Love Supreme.

Keep you in the heart of me
and see there is only you
only one
only just a living dream
to get caught up in
and play and dabble for a bit.
Yes, a nine.
You’re drawn to things for a reason.
Quite literally, 9.
There aren’t 7s or 8s or 2s even.
Truth is absolute which makes you 1 or 0.
So?
Which side will you play
or should I say choose?
Cuz, regardless the jersey
you pick up to wear,
in reality, there’s only one game.
So you either know you’re a player;
or, you’re part of the backdrop
and just being played.