They were both ****
As ghost's;
Dissapearing into another's loving soul's.



©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedicated
©Lonesome poet's poetry

She stared at me and said "it's all right"
but she was not right.

She told me about the haze.
She told me about darker days.
She told me about my terrible self-esteem.

She doesn't know.
Push and flow
and gregariously go.

She doesn't know
Push comes to shove
and I infinitely disappear.

We all long for a disappearance.
So a companion will exit,
but I will self-medicate.

We all long for a disappearance
So I'll keep the safety on
and remind myself to wait.

And they'll ask one another
Where didst he go to?

Don't ask me,
I don't even know!!!!

I see so much more than you could ever ask
And will eternally
Wonder
the wonderful masks

Swirling,
in the cosmos of your love.
Swimming,
through the endless depths of your emotions.
I find eternity, here,
wrapped up in your arms.

I search for more,
and you're right here.
Every melted fear,
every forgotten sin,
every spilled tear,
comes rolling out.
No longer am I stuck in the past.
No longer am I filled with doubt.

I lose myself in you,
and you begin to lose yourself, too.
Dissapearing into the eons of our thoughts,
so tangled together,
so wrapped up in the idea,
of a true forever.

I feel like I'm falling,
and the darkness surrounds me,
and I find myself calling.
Calling out your name,
and searching for your touch.
All at once you appear.
Telling me "I am here."
You pick me up from my descent,
you feel as if you're heaven sent,
a cheribum just for me.

I gasp,
and I choke,
will I suffocate again?
"Never," you tell me,
and your presence fills my lungs.

The stars like in the distance,
other galaxies eons away,
but the sun drenched love of the heavens,
I find right here,
with you.

I try to wake up,
to realize it's all a dream.
Looking down,
I realize I'm still holding you,
and you're the one sleeping.

And for a moment,
I know how forever feels,
I feel what love becomes,
and I remember lifetimes with you,
that we never really spent.

Finally I begin to ponder, and
I start to wonder if all of this is fate.
Some long-lost ancient prophecy fulfilled,
that you are my true soulmate.

She came and she went.
Like all others did...
With a smile so beautiful and deep.
A God's child she was,
Gleaming with joy and beauty.
Sparkling eyes and tousled hair,
A girl of eleven or twelve...
Touched the heart so beautifully.
I stared at her and felt my smile return.
She peeped into my car window
And looked deep into my eyes.
She made me see through her,
An innocent face and naughty eyes.
I tossed a coin at her and she returned a smile.
I gazed at her for a moment and watched her say goodbye.
Then she ran along with her playmates...
Lighting every corner of the streets.
I smiled at her dissapearing figure as long as I could....
But soon the road was left far behind.
My mind kept wondering....
Will she always be the girl of the street?
Will she too follow her destiny alone?
Then I became busy...
And left the girl behind again...
Afterall who cares for a girl of the street....

It always
ends the same-
you found someone,
you turn away and
just like that,
the magic
is gone.

ii


lunch


iii

over lunch i chewed
with my few remaning
while glancing in the mirror

and i saw myself
for the first time
as i truly am

and somethings
slid into place
i think they call it

an epithany
i have been trying
of late

through various discipline
and just catching
dissapearing

but memories one
would imagine lost
have come

to explain and
raise further
questions

in my pursuit
of me ..in
knowing oneself
there is taboo

but what to do
but in my reflection
just for a moment..

recognition

there was once a dinosaur as big as big can be
he lived many years ago back in history
roamed around the planet living of the land
and up on two feet the dinosaur would stand
he was very tall and very very high
he would walk around with his head up in the sky
there were many others there were many more
everyone was big just like the dinosaur
a land with giant animals but now they dont exist
changing with the planet dissapearing in the mist

Guess into the tunnel
I shalt dissapear
Tis much better
Then being here....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Dissapearing

Luminol when sprayed on a cleaned wall
that was once stained with the blood of a human being
will light up every splatter, and reveal the crime scene in all it's
chaotic splendor, even after years of careful hiding

Things happen every day in my creamy, dreamy life
moods, like the calm bay that hides the sharks underneath
the blood splatter of the natural cycle is covered in blue indistinct waves
while carnage and drama play themselves out in the silent muted depths

And as the bay gets darker the further you go down
especially in the deep canyon where a fervent Japanese submarine snuck
into California waters, and chased a boat around briefly before dissapearing
forever, just as these depths contain mystery and waste
so my thoughts, once so churned and pained, lie dormant and unseen
with the plastic forks that are stuck in the sand
and the plastic bags that move by in the darkness like ghosts
Because beneath the surface, in that deepest groove
is where all the pain and waste and wreck of civilization has accumulated
and is creating a new order in a once pristine reusable recyclable landscape
But I cannot see my depths, only try to feel them
in a primitive way, like sonar--what is this?
A small submersible floats through the deep cold water down there
through the snow flakes of biological residue that is food for life
and it looks at the garbage and sends back a video signal
that this is a warning, of our ceaseless, accumulating destruction unseen

Corner curtains close to encircle
souls bearing poems
scratched on manila pads or
formed on computers
to await a reading

amid clangs of ceramic cups
stainless steel utensils
and cream pitchers.
  
Carlo’s throat cracks while
he recalls running his fingers
over dry scaly skin
tolerating the heat rising in his body
as he befriends  
snakes coexisting in his camp

Mokasiya narrates adventures 

along rock mesas
formed and shaded
red, orange and tan
and how grasses turn brittle and dry
nearly dissapearing
amid enormous grasshopper swarms  .
.
A young woman sings and plays poetic
lyrics of struggles
lamenting that she should have
given in to the hot rage in her throat
to shoot and **** the *****
who corrupted her father’s marriage

Corner curtains open
as words and phrases
remain to die
among the chairs
mixing with the sawdust
on the hardwood flooring
unlikely to become
reborn, reread or recorded

I suppose what I was looking to achieve at first was to end my pain. It really is as simple as that. Just a rather ****** "**** it! I give up!" sort of feeling. I didn't like myself anymore but neither did I dislike myself either. It's a hard feeling to convey if you've never felt it, although i've never been comfortable with people suggesting I was "numb". "Numb" is how the doctors got me to convey such feelings and no doubt in the confusion of the multiple changes of doctors, nurses and support workers (It was an average of a different doctor every 9-10 days for the first two months), coupled with the no doubt hastily scribbled notes and vast amount of paperwork on me being handed around, it was probably taken literally on a number of occassions (and perhaps, in the official records, still is). It is not, I feel, a good word to describe how I felt.

Everywhere and everything was a source of feeling. I was just sort of balancing it all out in the middle. I'd still have the majority of the days emotions ticking along normally (well, i SAY normal. At the time it was pretty much rage, hatred and severe depression but at least I have words for these!).  I still have no way of accurately conveying what i mean in words but i think the closest way i can get to describing it is to say it is like a sort of emotional version of simutaneously trying not to think of pink elephants whilst trying to turn yourself into a pink elephant and the feeling you get in between not being asleep and waking up. I realise that that's still wholly unaccurate but hopefully it describes things in a way that's at least understandable, although probably still not relatable.

Those feelings changed somewhat after what was my fourth attempt to take my life. Fourth attempt - fourth method of hastily induced death. I had chosen that particular night a large cocktail of drugs consisting of (if memory serves me right) about 20-30 Quietiapine (200mg) (an anti-psychotic i was being trialled on at the time that also induced sleep), roughly 50-60 hydroxzine (25mg) (an anti-anxiety drug which also doubles as an anti-histimine which reduces the nausea experienced by overdosing) and probably in the region of 150 or so co-cadomol (500mg) (a rather strong painkiller).

It seemed I had all I needed to end my life. I walked down to the park at night, sat in the gazebo and started to take the pills with some lucozade. It wasn't exactly a sombre moment but it wasn't like I had anything exactly to be happy about either. It took about half an hour to take all the pills and that was taking them 5-6 at a time. It was like a sodding pill-popping marathon that i couldn't give up untill they were all gone. Then they were all gone and there was nothing left to do but wait.

Only as I was waiting, it happened. The only genuinely life-changing moment I ever had. It was like I could feel myself slipping away and a thought came to me. Words that, for the months preceding that moment, would've caused me to fly into a blind rage, to scream and cry and shout. Words that I had tried rationialising against for what felt like an eternity whenever they were directed at me. Words that from the mouths of doctors filled me with hate, and from friends filled me with tears now came to my mind both as old companions but now, strangely, also as new friends;

                                                              There's nothing more you can achieve...    

                                                               You've done all you can...

                                                               Move on...    

It's not a case of "I don't think i've ever been as happy...". I know i'd never been as happy. So much relief, so much tension in one fell swoop just vanished in the time it took to think a thought. I've experienced crying with happiness before but i sobbed that night. Big wails of happiness that got stuck in my chest if i tried to hold it, tears streaming like a tsunami down my cheeks and just so much happiness that i couldn't contain myself. I wanted to sing and since there was no reason not to i did, songs of freedom, songs that meant the world to me, songs i'd sang as a child, songs i'd made up, songs i was still making up. Imagine every problem with everything just dissapearing instantly. Every thing you've ever been even slightly worried about gone. That's were i was. I was IN THAT WORLD. It didn't matter if it was just in my head. It was real. It was final. It was mine.

Here i am 16 and smoking a cigarette
Here i am not addicted but reliant
Here i am smoking because there is nothing else to do
I cut bit that doesnt last
Smoking seems to last longer but still it hurts
The pain is real
But so is this cigarette
Newport platinums or l&m menthol 100s
My mom doesnt know but doesnt she
How else do you explain whole cigarettes dissapearing
Does she think she think she smokes that much
How about lighters dissapearing just misplacing them

When I wake up in the morning, flattened against my sheets
My body hesitates before stacking itself upright
As if it knows, this isn't right
As if it can give comparison between before and now

I put my hands on my waist
And for a moment they hover- where they used to fall no longer exists
I feel like I'm plunging my hands straight into my very soul
When they hit upon curves and bone
I marvel, poking at the skeleton uncovered under my skin

I loved myself then, I love myself now
More so even

I feel less real somehow
As if by my body dissapearing,
my soul becomes more detached
As if by eating less,
I become more free.

i see you
opening your eyes
out of your sleep
a familiar touch

there's no trace
of me in your thougts
waking up without me
is this the end?

the warmth in your bed
is of your body alone
no fragrance
of our love

as the morning sun
comes up on you
i m dissapearing as quick
as a ghost

be a poet,
if you must...
but know this,
from one who cares.

it is an addiction,
that will cause strife.

you will,
learn stuff,
you never really wanted
to know.

you will,
find pieces
of your soul,
best forgotten.

you will,
stay awake
late into the night,
trying to twist a phrase
til, it turns out just right.

there will be,
tears and much,
frustration.

at times you will,
neglect your, everyday
life.

oh there will be, angst
and fear
as you let your poems go
and see your words fly...
or plummet to the unforgiving ground.

and yes i cannot deny
there will be joy,
much euphoric joy,
as you discover
new words
with which, to toy.

so be a poet, if you must
if you have,
a liking for
garrets and starvation.
enough to offset your
word lust.

...just be original
don't be a parrot
write for you first
and then for others
strive for exquisite
excellence....
but now it is
a fragile dissapearing
thing....


it is your life
you get to choose
your own folly...

**** love. Its a fool's disease with no cure conpulsively offering up pieces, soon fragments then molicules of a heart to be vaporised at will; resigned to watch yourself dissapearing a little more each day hoping to manifest the value of it in a heart you dont own or truly undrstand all the while choosing this pain over and over again.  Only the loved wins. The lover always pays.

Chill is in the air,
Sound of bells dissapearing,
Eyes moist with care,
For the past year endearing;

The tender sun shines on,
Brightening the darkest rooms,
Good and bad moments count on,
unable to light the heart in gloom;

So let's prepare the breakfast porridge,
Wiping the nostalgic tears,
Garnish heartily with hope and courage,
Serving a delicious new year;

It was 1am,
I was walking alone,
I was thinking about her,
Under the same stars.

Does she was awake?
When I was too?
Does she was deep in her sleep?
Or does she wrote poems?
Like I did?

My poems,
My thoughts,
My breathe,
My cough,
My eyes,
My stars
My words,
My moves,
My chords,
All for her.
Does she knows?

All for her,
Everything,
From my heart to every atom of me,
It is enough?
It is enough, darling?
Would you mind if I ask you for a kiss?
Or it is too much?

Oh my dear, you're a star,
I settle for you,
You shine, you're special,
Do you know that?
How my poems,
How my thoughts,
Never rhyme
Never had meaning,
But forever fits,
Exactly on paper.

My love for you,
Like a hurricane,
My love for you,
Like a star.
It's so bright,
It is shining,
It is never dissapearing
Until you do that, too.
But I know you wouldn't do that.
Don't you?

My endlessly galaxy
Only for you,
My endlessly mind,
Only for you,
My endlessly love,
Only for you,
Because you're my only one,
Am I the only one for you too?

Because when it's 2am in the morning,
I am sitting here,
I am writing,
Poems with no sense,
Poems who can make you feel exactly what I feel too,
Poems from my deepest places
Of my heart
For you my dear,
Poems with no sense but with feelings.

Like I am.

Today I look up one way tickets on the greyhound and think about

dissapearing.

My name means pure, unsullied. It means that i'm untouchable, it means that i am alone, It means i am bigger than life, it means i smile with teeth of white. It means i am lonely somewhere in the light, it means you can't polute me. It means that if you are with me you're alone, it means i can't be mixed or altered by any other substance, when i get mixed in a substance, i don't react, i don't alter from my perfect white, it means you can't defy me, but remember to show me the bright colors that happen when you react with someone else.
My name is bright but misunderstood. Misinterpreted is the color of my eyes. No one is fit to my name, therefor it is rare. Therefor i'm not sure it fits. It means i get hurt, but still try getting on my feet. It means i find the good in other people, that i inherit the best traits. Even if i can't see it myself.
My name is spelled wrong, defying who i am, it misses a place to belong, my name is not easy to pronounce.
My name is a hurricane in the states, it is quick temper, my name is impatience, it means i can crush your heart, it means you can't carry mine. It means if you are with me you are on top of the world, it means you can't tear me down, im taking humans in my palms, swallowing the seas and rivers like saliva. And when you fall from the highest altitude remember to give me your black bruises. My name is unforgivable, my name meant pure once, my name was cold as the winter, killing butterflies, and my name is incarnated in the fields of Louisiana, killing people, and asking them to forgive me. Understand; i am not as pure as my name.

It means, i am alone, like the hurricane that carries my name i will be gone quicker than i came but never forgotten. It means that when i settle you fall from my palms. It means that i disapear, while you get hurt. It means that i am only shown in the atmosphere, watching, waiting and never coming back. If or when i do, you will have changed my name and i will be replaced by another hurricane, ten times stronger and harder to let go. I will be watching, dissapearing, while you are in the palms of another. When the rain finally falls, know that it is only my tears, they may not taste like salt, but they will taste bitter of heartbreak, and when everyone is shouting of pure happiness that the drought is finally over, that the water is fresh and delightfull, remember to tell me how you taste the hurt from my heart, in her mouth.
I will not be forgotten, whatever it takes.

When my name told me i was meant to be pure. I thought about how i blamed everyone who sullified me, knowing that the only one who poluted me was myself. Knowing that everything i have ever done was make myself less aproachable, more broken, more *****. less pure. I meant to destroy myself so i couldn't become a stereotype of my name. Now i am only expected to come spiralling down in a storm of dirt whenever i arrive.

When my name told me the truth, i thought i was the one doing the hurting, the damage. When all along i was the most hurt, broken and damaged. I am unsure of weather or not i deserve my name, but no matter what i will not be unsure of weather or not i am worthy of it.

the world is sad

the deaths are constant

the heartbreaks are like twigs breaking beneath tiny childrens feet

the catastrophic events are like birds flying overhead, swooping down occasionally

the violence, like sparks from the fire that burns in all of us

that fire burns within all of us

until it doesnt

it can suddenly flicker

and it can grow colder and colder

till is coal and cold

i wonder if the birds beaks like the taste of tiny childrens feet

if the sparks fuel the joyful jog of children till the beaks swoop down and eat them whole

i wonder if the forests fires scare the birds into the air

swarms flying flying flying

air full of beating wings

children crying

people screaming

bodies falling

bodies lying

birds swooping

birds eating

bodies dissapearing

smaller bodies wondering

small cries fill the air

crackles of fire join them

hear the sound

smell the smell

I hear it makes some ill

But Im so used to it by now ive stopped plugging my nose

the smell of charred flesh is near me

surrounds me

is me

It's like I'm losing control of time,
And my mind is dissapearing.