My mind keeps pictures of you up on its walls
                            again
                         ­         and again
I find my thoughts drifting down that river of memory
orbiting around you, like forces of gravity drawn
to the idea of us (if there even is an us)

If I could then I’d lock you outside my brain, leave you out there to rot
in the abyss, where your words couldn't penetrate me
and your lips that work like anesthesia forbidden to numb me again

I won't do you the injustice of romanticizing your imperfections
You're no nebular, you're a black hole, a gaping flaw in creation
Your eyes that held millenniums of history, now hold me no future

You made me forget what it feels to have stability
To not walk out of a room and forget why I left
You make me want to shred the skin you touched
Like a reptile, to become reborn, purified from my past.

There never were any butterflies in your stomach, only parasites
but you fed them to me readily like a disease

So no, I won’t dedicate you another love poem
                 no I want (deserve) better
This isn't what love should be
I’ll write you a poem where the words convulse on the page
and you’ll forget to read it (you always do)

fragments of us,
cerulean skies,
rambunctious weather, we sip our coffee.
the warmth feels like family, the touch of love,
the familial memory is now obsolete,
the the vapor prickling the skin,
rasorial in it's habit,
the flames have a life too.
the windshield wipers, convulse, wipe off,
the stains painted by a stranger's drops,
the sky weeps, in unison with the growling clouds,
they are hungry, because they are tired,
of hiding under the sun.
every person feels like a distant memory,
every feeling feels like a vapor of fantasy,
unbodied by objects,
this life has become a chairoscuro for my body and soul.
fragments of us,
i have come to love objects more than people.
because they cannot hurt me,
as they are metaphors i can understand,
but not feel.

Too many days
And I will take a lover, or two or three
Beautiful, all of them. And for an hour, or a day....I love something
Everyone will eventually leave you. And they do
No warning (though you should have known)
There is no permanence in this world
An illusion

So the blood runs down for you, I convulse and cry for you, I taste the tears off your soft soft skin

Gone in the morning light.

She looks up at me
from upon the floor
so soft as wings of owl
they wonder exactly what i see
she grins at me as i lock the door...
pleasant roaring? nay just growl.

her fangs bite into my neck
lightly so, but blood still flow
to more than just my wound....
she makes my body wreck
even more than she could know
our howls now entuned.

she rides through the night,
trots and gallops i am her steed
ferocios passion, she rides yet more
tense i crumble, and liquid moonlight
ina room with no windows, finally freed
i struggle to breathe, can't take much more.

she rides unhindered for a moment longer
til she convulse, contract, collapse upon my chest
roar? nay she purrs, such soft a sound
rough we breathe, mine arms around her
she's done her part, now i the rest...
i know in my heart i love this one, and love was found

I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals

I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon

To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course

With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys

They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee

You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound

I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase  them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind

I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove

I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon

I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I'm the Black Spider
I **** all I desire

I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals

I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon

To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course

With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys

They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee

You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound

I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind

I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove

I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon

I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I am the Black Spider
I **** all I desire

ice water clogs up my veins,
chilling me,
as most rises from my skin at dawn.
cerulean lips that match my eyes
spread over bared diamond teeth,
as I convulse and writhe on the steel table.
ribs crackle and split so suddenly
that not even a sharp gasp
can knive itself
past my throat.
organs fails and shrivel together,
abandoning me,
as gloved hands rip them out
from the incision along my belly.
my once silky tresses
fray and dry
before eventually falling out,
outlining my spasming figure.
grey brain matter numbs and
electrical impulses cease to a halt.
no more thoughts...
no more movements...
just a dead body with a beating heart.

I'm sorry

The rain falls
rhythmically on the
nape of my neck.

I promise, it'll be different

My body quakes with
chills, I convulse
at your words.

Please

I can see a steady
stream of water pouring
over my eyes.

I still love you*

My blood runs cold,
I lose all feeling in
my hands and feet.
My heart skips a beat,
not out of love, but from
lack of warmth.
You're an illusion,
a figment of someone else's
imagination.

I am cold and wet.
I'm going home.

She stares at the floor. She has to be dreaming. She can’t believe it actually happened. She’s in shock, a deep shock vibrating her core and numbing her skin.

She shivers, and looks up at the ceiling, where drops of blood fall into a small puddle on the clean linoleum below.
A small trickle of water seeps in from the laundry room to her left, and the clear veins of water glide around her extended foot, attracted to her self-loathing tension. The water knows what she’s done, knows it can’t fix her and wants to be a part of this torture in her soul.

She kicks the water away, futilely and desperately. This is the most movement she’s taken since she came downstairs, and it is the opening of the reservoir of tears within her. She sobs, huge racking sobs that convulse every fiber of her being.

She hates herself. She hates herself. She takes her fist, and she punches. Anywhere and everywhere she can hit. Her legs, her neck, her stomach, her chest. Anything she can do to herself to make herself feel, to make herself hurt. She needs to be punished.

She knows that she deserves to die, but she isn’t sure if she has the guts or selfish selflessness to do it. The gun lays on the tile across the room, it’s barrel turned toward the wall in cowardice. She scoots over to it and picks it up. In her mind it burns her hand, but she holds on strong. This pain is nothing to her.

She slowly finds the strength to stand up, and squints her puffy eyes to hide herself as she walks past the mirror. She has to crawl up the steps. She didn’t realize she was so weak, but she’d looked at the clock on the way up, and she’d been sitting there bawling for over four hours.

At the top of the steps, she loses her breath. Her lithe, agile body isn’t tired, but she sees his foot, carelessly hanging out into the hallway where he fell. She can’t go on yet. She looks at the gun, still in her hand. It’s her light, her only exit sign.

She walks on, into the bedroom, stepping over his foot. She squats down beside his head and looks at his pale, sunken face. His body is already well into the process of rigor mortis, and it flushes her hopes that he’ll sit up and say, “Boo.”

Tears are streaming down her face, a hurt so intense, so overwhelming, that she is not even aware she is crying once more.

Finally, she’s done looking at him. She cannot grasp that she did this to him, and yet her hands apparently can. They put the barrel of the gun to her head, and she inhales sharply without exhaling. The cold barrel feels hot against her temple, and it slides a centimeter from her perspiration and the pressure she’s applying. Maybe if she just pushes it into her temple hard enough, it will take care of itself, and she won’t have to pull the trigger.

She lets go of all pretenses, and time seems to pause as she pulls the trigger. She drops, falling onto his body before her. Her tears roll down his stomach, the force of gravity in action.

Loss
One persons answer to deaths finality
Nancy what do I do I had things to write that I wanted to show you. The flame of your life dwindled to a flicker and then only a glowing ember. Now all that remains is the coldest coal nothing of your beauty and resonating life to earth shows there is no place to rekindle the glow the life you did show. Like a candle in a dark room all the burning finished but the day is so far away. In this dungeon darkness to sit alone unutterable words bind the tongue as strong as deaths cruel unyielding grip. All that is left all that anyone can do is speak to your memory. I know it is not as strong as death a body without breath my defeat the impenetrable veil all semblance of human emotional depth it repels without effort or mercy. Only Saul pierced the pall of this blackest wall spoke to one through evil device to great the cost for briefest utterances he lost it all. I want the peace we shared in common those days without end so cluttered and full with bits and pieces of life that we both shared and knew in detail. Strangers left outside the circle of our hopes and dreams now I to face a barricade the first parameter the mist of gray sorrows dark lined and drawn face. The second mythical beings that taunt with illusion and promise that evaporates at the feeblest attempt to get your attention. You fall to the ground the most familiar and comforting knowable existence then you convulse at the knowledge this is where my friend is defined defamed a better word she walked on the soil she ruled earth and sky like a gull playful exciting your eyes always filled the air with contentment. There was the airy feel that nature was dancing to an enthralling tune that you alone could hear and as you passed you would offer your hand and then two would swirl seemly even able to captivate the wind. Where can you replace the irreplaceable the grave bares this truth and comfort one of our own has found peace among the thorns man’s life is short and full of trouble only a vapor to be consumed. I guess that is the great rub as William so eloquently stated it. There is this rock hard fact determination is birthed at life’s going before we can be as the willow bent by every breeze our heart our limbs react to regret with a stiffing resolve we will go forward they are honored as it should be but by God’s unerring hand we will sacrifice on this damnable altar of pain to speak to act in accordance with their cherished memory that knows no bounds we the keeper of the flame the body grows old but the spirit ever

If I want to die, I'll do it myself
I'll save a kid or some **** and make it look like I died a hero
But nah, I had a death wish.
Didn't any of you know?
I said it probably forty-million times.
It's cool the kid is alive, though.
And it's cool that this all rhymes.

Tell the kid while I convulse, choking on blood that  I said,
"Eat your vegetables. Stay in school. Being in love is really cool.
It's okay to be alone. It's okay to be afraid. Don't make the decision I made."

Then play some surfer music and have him stand in front of a projector,
projecting video waves and dreams, as they start to dance.

Honestly.
If I wanna die, it's by your side.
But you're gone.
Away.
It was too hard, and you're afraid.
I'm afraid, too. I don't wanna die.
But this isn't living, what I'm doing now.
It's survival, and it's just
blood and bone.
Eat and walk.
In a crowded room, alone.
Smile and talk.
I can't feel. I can't feel. Keep saying it: I can't feel.

But I feel it all, and if I want to die then it's by your side.
If I wanna die, then I want to talk to you before I go.
If I'm going to die then it's because it's hard to cope
knowing that I love you, and you love me, but you don't wanna anymore.
So I don't wanna anymore, anything.
I don't wanna be here.
I don't wanna be anywhere.
I don't wanna be.

I dream a lot now, more than before.
Reality has become the compass to a draining nothingness,
and I don't want to stick around.
Either way, I'll dream or think of nothing, and it couldn't be that bad.

"No one is worth taking your life over."
"It gets better."
"What if she wasn't the one?"

How do you know how I feel?
What if it doesn't?
What if she was?

Can I bathe in nihilism or is that too transparent?
Should I shake the salsa in the silver room of the Lisbeth Salander character arch or should I be in the ark, two by two, with Noah?
At least I'll be able to feel, taste, see the shine, relate to another's pain, realize a life, be next to one meant for me in the shelter of doom and eventual hope, and be with a man with as much certainty, perceived as crazy or brilliant as me.

Can you walk home to me?

To know that what I knew is what I may never know is something I don't want to know, and something I'll always know could be something I live for and by, and that's all I knew before and now I know nothing but that.

If I wanna die, then it's knowing you as I walk to you or you walk to me, in depth, in death, in soliloquy.

The crumbling clock is my hoarder as it keeps everthing I don't need like memories, future events, and times and dates for places I don't want to be.

Is it too much to want to be a fly on the wall that is smashed?

I've never been so lost.

"Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic."

Okay, thanks. Now I can think of that, and what else is wrong with me while I feel lost. So lost, and unlike ever before if I ever was lost before.

What do I even say on my note?

Ooops?
Whoops?
My bad?
It's never enough, isn't it?

If I could wrap your sorrow around my lungs to where I could only breathe your sadness as I give you my hopes, joys, and everlasting essence to fuse with you as you feel complete, I would, I have, and I lay empty.

Is this enough to say?
Do you get my point?

This little pink ball looks so tiny and innocent hidden behind a flap of skin.
I am its master.
You are at my mercy once I take hold of it.

I will tease you for hours and then finally see it.
A little pink ball glistening with your ***** excitement.
Even not a touch, but just circling around it,
playing with the skin that covers it slightly.

I can push down a little and make you lose control.
I can rub it and watch your muscles tense and spasm.
You buck and groan wanting more.
The little pink ball ***** as it will go.

I twist it between my fingers
as your legs twitch and sweat.
As I stop right before you hit ******,
edging you,
teasing you all night long.

I will leave your beautiful red lips,
and put mine to your little pink ball.
Slowing licking it,
as you once again convulse uncontrollably
from the sensation of my tongue.

It becomes too much and you
***
***
***

You lay their exhausted,
sweat dripping from your forehead.
with that goofy satisfied smile on your face,
like nothing else in the world matters.

I watch you and admire my handiwork.
I finally speak,

“My turn”

Creamy and warm
your thoughts
like a swirl of make believe beauty
I wonder
do I fit into the equation?
That perfection of neural impulses
your mind
do I meet the requirements
to swim in your stream of consciousness
convulse to your heartbeat
love you
like you were
greater than yet equal to
me?
I wish I could answer for you
say "yes"
with more certainty on my lips
than moments I have spent
thinking, longing
for your reciprocated desire
not merely physical,
though that would be nice too,
but for your desire to know me
like you know of your own existence
and to continue wanting that knowledge
once it has been realized-
every day
every second
more and more
until we get love- filled aneurysms
slow and steady
becoming nothing
together.

Discontentment always be
knock, knock, knock!
On thoracic diaphragm.
All cavities get filled
with emptiness and the brain
It sees this anomaly, does its great job:
"Fill the emptiness!";
Ironically keeping to the heart's shadow.

The blind leading the blind,
blood is boiling up inside.
Voices keep repeating
Same old eulogy
Attendees deserted the ceremony
Muscles convulse
One last waking breathe
"Wake up!"

As if this some dream before
The the soul floats above, observing life.
The tangibleness of time:
<Fear>
              <sadness>
<anger>                  <surprise>
<happiness>          
                        <disgust>; now reprise.

"Take this drug for medicinal purposes."
$Paralyze
               $Numb
                          $Tranquilize
               $Dumb
$Petrified
               $Stump
"Why don't you wake up?!"

One loud shrieking gasp
Ooh-aah!
Heavy pants
Agh
                           Agh
            Agh
"That was a close one..."
The dark matter shifted away.

The brain followed its cue;
What was the discontentment?
It hasn't got a clue.
"I only want more"
Said the voices in the brain
"Of life, that is"

a silver splinter in
nights obsidian epidermis
bled silver saliva
dripping over every edificial
outcropping of tangled limbs

times quiet muscles contract
in rhythmic response to
your quivering thighs
as sudored ******* convulse
eloquently

sharp gasps lash (at(
my damp) fabric

my cells scream)

with the scrabbling scratch of black painted nails

;

It's a strange feeling to see someone like who you usted to be. You see that forgotten girl in her hollow face. The way her cheekbones dip in a sulking way. It's like a permanent stain of sadness etched into her expression. The bags under her eyes show her sleep deprivation due to stress and anxiety brought on by thoughts created by her own demons inside of her own head. Her hair is very thin because very few locks remain. Her suffering hides in the lining of her collarbone. She feels it as if it is a sculpture, rubbing all of her worries away. She is comforted by her hip bones, the way they bulge out like mountain peaks. Her stomach craves for nutrition, for a taste of happiness. Although her body demands the continents of her kitchen, her mind screams No! You can see the lining of her stomach and wonder if that was really you way back then. The way she struggles to breath as she runs, forcing herself to endure more pain that she already experiences. She can feel her chest burning, little does she know it's acid eating away at her, killing her slowly. Her thighs no longer touch, they breach a gap so wide, you wonder how her legs can withstand such a faulty structure. Her lips are a lavender hue and you wonder if she ate something purple, but no. You know deep down it's the cold that fills her body constantly. Even in the summer she wears long sleeves and jeans because the shivers that go up and down her spine are so strong that she may convulse if she were not protected by her warm clothes. Her fingers are slim and seem to be those of a creature that's non-human. Her body is so frail and so weak. But it's become a safe haven for her. The constant glances in the mirror. Examining her body for any flaws that might have surfaced. The constant fight between body and mind whether to starve or to survive the day. I'm hungry, says the body. You're weak, says the mind. As I look at this stranger I see myself. My forgotten self. That forgotten girl long ago who saw her life dwindling before her eyes. Those broken pieces still surface now and then. And that forgotten girl will never truly be forgotten. Because she used to be a part of me. My best friend, yet my true enemy. My anorexia.

I've got a binder 'round my lungs
I've got a lock upon my useless tongue
I've got spirit too big for my vessel and a mind cluttered up with thoughts to be wrestled


My muscles tighten up and
my head lightens up and
night lights chill my pulse
and veins feebly convulse


Oh dear


Lungs, not quite up to par
as they fill with liquid stars
Do you see? This tissue is burning to scars
destroying this lovely "ours"

Sifting through throngs of ordinary people
Feeling the sweat run down your spine,
Knowing that somewhere, lost in the nowhere
Penniless thoughts are sweeping your mind.

Whispering breezes caress the deep valleys
Towering aspens reach for the sky
Loveliness stretches across the whole landscape
And ordinary people live life as they die.

The everyday actions of ordinary souls
Which gather like old leaves in piles at your feet,
They billow and flow like windblown confetti
And lay there like derelict snow in the street.

The passion and pain that flow through the lifeway
The highs and the lows that paint in your mind
Magnificent portraits of colour and texture
That render your eyesight effectively blind.

You scream at the hollowness, vacantly pulsing
Thrash at the emptiness shimmering there,
Long for the avalanche of substance returning
Long for the touch of her long golden hair.

Swim through the morass of ordinary people
Wade through the ordinary thoughts that live there
Making the most of the moments of lightness
Through quivering lips you discard despair.

Dancing in puddles and splashing through gutters
Cascading on through in a frivolous way,
Tossing your mane with a smile built on vapour
Dispelling your cares like windblown hay.

To gasp for air in the turquoise downtime
****** out your palms apon your knees,
Feel your chest convulse with effort
These flooding tensions gush to ease.

Whispering nothings are echoing softly
Silkily wafting from this side to there
Imparting the message that life is worth living
And crimson & scarlet diffuse in the air.

This ordinary day has done it’s thing now
Temperate airs have cooled to chill,
Vistas fade into the distance
Starlings flock upon the hill.

Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
18 January 2008

This great white wolf made for traversing wilderness giving it the most identifiable sound for its
Wild uncompromising soul beautifying the night wind adding an extra chilling effect but giving
Unspeakable comfort too it tells of freedom and possibilities latent in us all but he is reduced to
Confinement in a small enclosure pitifully no larger than a small yard his is a life sentence with
All these noble creatures that is at hand what would be so awful to set him free after five
Years and replace him with a kit a lot of his five years would be in youthful play and when he
Did mature and the wear begins then repeat the action we ourselves have and experience this
Fate we have a great white pure spirit that longs to be masterful but our eyes and the things we
See deface and scar our opportunities that are innumerable but dark bars hold us in pens their
Shadows show on our fleece that is white as snow there is the outward physical blackness but
Of the greatest sadness it burrows into the sacred hidden places of the mind this is a tether
Most cruel but outwardly we convulse with misery but can’t clearly identify why misery and
Sadness hounds us without end we all desire love but we practice selfishness and try by greed
To use others to give us what we think will make us happy what darkness grips us what light
Would be found and we would emerge from deep pits if we understood giving helping others is
Where satisfaction out weighs gold and its benefits are perpetual well being to making the soul
Gleam as white as brightest day and this will not become cankerous and subtly start to shrink
Your heart to bitter ridicule of your own self you can go forth groaning or singing blackness
Befalling you at every turn or your heart will be leaping over fast moving streams that have
Depths of joy they rush over your feet and then swirl upwards from your feet all through your
System until your head is invigorated and swimming bestowing on you pleasure your heart will
Leap like a hart you truly will be the envy and guide to others that you unsuccessfully sought at
Other times in devious ways and you were so misguided you were plagued with a unreachable
Denseness you fight with such fervor but it cost the loss of everything but by simple obedience
And surrender to the much over looked and demeaned golden rule all it asks is love your
Neighbor as yourself what a healthy and wise statement love yourself without restraint now
Just go and double it by giving the same consideration to your fellow man and then vanquish  
The darkest and most powerful restraints by confessing I see deaths grip it has perfected traps
That are mine alone and it is not in our power that we can break free but His power is without
Equal why should I languish in this black dungeon when on white wings as an eagle is my true
Potential I was made to fly in bluest skies and to match the cool moist clouds I was made to
Make a show only to be sky bound not locked in myself and become hidden by my black
Outlook that obscures what love I am capable of

Bonus
Imperfections
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light

The pain never sets in
and I hope it never will.

But when midnight strikes
and my vision starts to shift.

No more comforting voices
to hold and soothe me.

No more reassurance
no more distractions.

Its at these hours of the night
that I can feel it staring bullets at my back.

And everything that's happened simply starts to collapse.

What's left of my sentient mind can only convulse
as I relive things that are better left unknown.

The misfortune in every coming of age
who would've guessed.

All I can wish at these times is that I were eternally dead.

-Kore

Whether storms are all numbered, counted, and expelled from heaven's manufacture as sensational, furious strands of wind and rain, who can say? As they arrive, however, it is nonetheless clear that they arrive as effects to sets of circumstances.

I sat up straight as an arrow, freshly awakened from a stirring dream of madness as the latest one arrived, watching the black clouds like mighty arms, struggling and arguing against the trees outside my bedroom window. I had been torn by an invisible hand clutching me by the throat, snatching me from the murk of an ephemeral bedroom.

Engulfed in unsatiated fear, powerless to convulse even the tiniest flesh patch or creak a bone, my body was wrapped in only a gray silken **** cloth. As I lay awake, speechless, thunderbolts cracked.

As I was rendered helpless to petrification, I was surrounded by strike after strike, a confounding series of white bolts striking seven times in each place, following a path of concentric circles around my small bed.

I struggled to move, feeling a moving static across my body like jellyfish stings from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, as I felt the cold chill from each bolt setting my face into a freezing strangulation.

I was pulled away. I faded away from the smoking holes surrounding the bed, the sub-zero chill outside and the torturous heat of fear and arrhythmia pumping spews and spurts through my arteries inside, and I was left to wander in my own fantasia as I stared up to the ceiling above me in my real bed, daydreaming of its meaning in epistomological fashion.

But oh he was wet and dripping ignorance
And I was combusting with unholy fury
Smiting him to and fro
With my unsheathed pen
And he sat struck dumb
Morally zombie like moaning again
For my skin
But I just wrote wicked hymns
Life graffiti, like rings of fire
And he dared not behold these cat
Eyes
and black widow smirk
“Her defense was frightening”
A phrase he said himself
To whom self still turning like
Clockwork from the very
Spoils it never left
And I went like laughing
Knowing well I was no psychopath
But wrote honest colors of the world
In black ink and white paper
Blowing his mind
Like streetlamps in the midst of ill-mannered
Children with heavy rocks
And how I was amazed
When I saw
That bead of sweat
Run down those taunt brows
Like a floating messiah
With no duty but to be heard
And if I tried to express
This dear loved ones
I would nonetheless
Use words putting us both in
Abashment
But oh was it impossible he gave
What I sought
No longer listening to the little jesus
That caused him to convulse to and fro
Every night
And behold so he spoke:
“You are the first girl that ever
Really made me think”
Tone affectionate, not resenting
And I swear I felt it
I felt world peace
And he cursed me
With the very touch
That I longed for
And feared
I guess I knew not
Everything in the world.

There is a hairs breadth between agony
And serenity. You must dance the fence
Like jumping wildly over a broad flame
And play the line between torment, torrent,
Or truth. There is no room for error here.
You must caress the demon in your mind
And sooth him, and feed him, and care for him
For this is the key to finding freedom

You must bottle your hurt and keep it safe
Affixing a sure gaze on the hour
Watching for changes, studying each bit
Of its black, grey, green, red pulsating form
So that if it breaks loose, you may find it
So that if it attacks, you may retreat
And retreat, you will, to your teary crypt
You must caress the demon in your mind

You must stitch it to your being, intentionally
Pushing the needle each time more deeply
And pull the wailing fabric through the mass.
Your body must convulse, leak; naturally
From time to time returning to this start
It is imperative that you are ready
In your heart as it beats double bass line
So that if it attacks, you may retreat

The line between paradise of your mind
May be found within each of your sorrows.
In what you remember or learn from them
And from the beauty of experience
Worthy, fully, of valuable heartache.
You must accept this, it is inevitable.
Assimilate your minds fictitious factions,
It is imperative that you are ready.

You must caress the demon in your mind
So that if it attacks, you may retreat
It is imperative that you are ready
For this is the key to finding freedom
There is a hairs breadth between agony
And serenity
You must dance the fence

Drinking summer skin,
I hear the voices in the night sky
I'm a slave to the darkness around the stars,
and I can't remember why

One, two, twenty-three percocet in my soul.
Ambulance lights breathing throughout the mist.
Pump my stomach like the sawed-off shotgun
that I was too afraid to use,
because what if I 'miss'?
What spectrum of desolation to be traced with lips;
to kiss away the desire to exist.

Mirrored reflection injection causes the resurrection of my imperfection.
I see me for who I am, who I was, and who I won't be.
It's the collection of
my eyes dilating and my knees speculating their arrival
to the blue and white tiling disguised as neo-survival.
My mind is evaporating. My body begins to convulse.
I am a ghost in a machine. I am without a pulse