His eyes are woven like dreamcatchers
within them lay my deepest desires
hidden messages and captivating images
The rythem of his heart
is like the ****** of my favorite song
The kind of note that leaves an impact
on the soul

I am cobwebs and smoke.
I am shards of a person who cannot decide
The difference between
Love
And god.
I am razorblades and thin air.
I am ink and shadows.
I am drowning in moonlight-
I am a spun web of starlight and wanting.
I am the wire frame of myself-
See through shape with nothing inside.
I am the wrong port in this storm,
Sending out beams of
Don't-ignore-me,
Blades of light that split the hazy fog of apathy.
You've sewn me with seeds of humanity
And I feel the life beneath my skin
Like it will sprout
Roots
Any day now.
I have a ribcage full of fireflies
That shine through the spaces when I breathe.
I have glimpsed dreamcatchers
In your eyes
And snagged my darkness in their dizzy thrall.

The dreamcatchers were full..
I finally opened them..
I let the dreams run wild..
And share them with you..

I want to be your dreamcatcher
And keep ahold of the insults meant for you.

Dreamcatchers don't catch dreams

They catch the things that keep you from having them.

There is a body floating in the water of Lake Michigan again, but no one is willing to fish it out.  There is a body floating in the pond near my subdivision again, but everyone already knew that anyway.  
        I am sitting eighty miles away, overlooking a city that is not mine, thinking about how the moon outside my window is the same moon that you can see from down below in your partially frozen-over dirt bed.  I am thinking about the vampire that sits in his apartment, chugging two-to-three bottles of blood a week, and wondering if he is haunted by the same ghosts as I am.  
        It’s taken me eighteen years to realize that I was infected with a different variation of his curse all along—I am less human and more lycanthrope than I would like to admit.  I am not like you, I am not like him, I am my own breed and that terrifies me.  (There are black cats prowling in my heart and fragments of mirrors in my liver and salt that bleeds from my heels when I walk.)
        No matter how many rabbits’ feet I tie to my keys, how many dreamcatchers I put above my bed, how many cloves of garlic I hang over my door, I am never able to rid myself of the chill that goes hand in hand with the phantom you left here.
        Mother, I think I killed a man two full moons ago and I haven’t been the same since.  I threw his body into the lake and watched him drift out into the unknown, watched the kraken drag him down, watched the water spew him back up like a cork.  And now I need you to make your way back to the land of the living to sit by my side.  I want you to cut off my head and make me a trophy animal.  Create a rug from my fur.  Eat my organs and freeze the rest for winter.  Use me for your own survival.  I just want to be helpful.
        I want to be everything the vampire was not but my fingers are breaking from holding on too tight.

                                                               ­                                          I should let go.

I'm a little disturbed by the implications
of dreamcatchers in cars.
Are we that prone to fall asleep
behind the wheel?
Are we that scared of our nightmares?
If life is a dream
does a person who dies near a dreamcatcher
get caught,
a fly in a web,
in the dreamcatcher and wait to be devoured
by the nightmares inside.

I attempted to
ensnare my darkest desires
with the help of dreamcatchers.

Filter out all those
recycled thoughts to unveil
a pipe dream that is just mine.

“…the war…often seems to have happened to someone else.”

-C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

A pickup truck beside a Navajo road
Tables of souvenirs, a Thermos of coffee
Clotheslines of dreamcatchers catching the sun
For now; the dreams must wait for sleepless hours

“You were in Viet-Nam,” the old man said
To another old man. No mystery;
He simply took a chance to make a sale
And did, for both had known the Vam Co Tay

Old men along the road, catchers of dreams
Who burned their chances in the long ago

A dreamchaser
Is an chaser chasing his dreams while the nightmares chasing us
Have to be brave an blunt
Being a dreamcatcher
Cuz the dreams ahead of us
Then its a nightmare for those trying to catch up
A nightmare for the haters
Dreaming my dreams before i wake up
So I'm writing nightmares on paper
Scary stories
Its goin be scary when im in my glory
But i don't write fairytales
Ask my fairy Godmother
My story is the story all the fairies waiting to tell
Im with GOD ALMIGHTY BROTHER
SO just wait till you read the first page

My dreams have a Hollywood camera feel
I see myself standing giving a good yell, hell
No matter what I be doin', I know that camera never be sleepin'
On me, it has to stay creepin'
My mind state is always dreamin', imagine
A man whose lives in dreamland
Yea that’s me, believe it if you can.
Fantastical.
Adventures. Mr. Fox is dead, he left his head,
Or wait, the tail.
I use it as my vial,
Hidden are my coerced thoughts.

The camera pans right, watch me fight.
The camera pans left, watch the death,
Of reality, for it’s all a fallacy.
We are all lost
Following a Shepard, confused
Lost and mistaken.
This camera, promotes what has been taken,
Our souls.
Escaping through the peepholes of our consciousness, leaving behind only traces of our former glory, where personification was unthinkable and Natures laws included humans. Rain was not push button controlled, and you couldn’t tell snow to blow. Where water was free and not bottled for clarity.

yea,
this camera controls me.
stealing my memories, gee.
who would have thought.
a digital dream--catcher.
except this time it catches,
my happiness,
desires, and dreams, real
motivation is killed.

Drain the sinewed brain

of twilight's limboed occult

help the humane rest

inspire our futures first

nightmares die
where good dreams live

Don't lose your mind
even the best road
break sometime
open your eyes
to nightmarish
weather
touch the dewdrops on a
dreamcatchers feather
let the heartbreak bind
stroke your soul
give yourself a hug
and love your mind.

sweet jesus
life is outrageous
listless alligators
try to upstage this
drift from forms
to formless sages
residual wages
furnishing your cages
threadbare leather workers
raid our refrigerators
rage is impulsive
sullen lisps and swollen lips
frame our faceless daughters
in their water glasses
houses of hunted howling
hourglasses
dreamcatchers and dancers
humongous lanterns
burning pages
place-mats
on your dinner tables
why do they feel so out of place
is it the way we are made
have you any
doubts about your origins
what is the worst
thing you’ve ever faced
are you exposed
to typos regularly
tokens of penmanship
and fraternity hazings
hostelries and banquets
growth is dependent
only on intangible quotients

coyotes like
magenta-clad twentysomethings
screaming:
singing at the unearthly
hour when I
watched the desert
stars overhead and
now I wonder what else it is they’ve
killed

and maybe if I’d hung enough
dreamcatchers I would have
caught all the dreams that
pulled me past
you (step
into my parlor said the spider to the
fly

but what is it anyway that sticks between your eyelids when you
sleep when you
keep your eyes shut and your mouth
open does the sandman glue them
together to resign you to your own
blindness

be careful with your eyes sweetheart because
too many waterfalls leave
cataracts in their wake.

in the fog of a cold summer,
you shivered like a seismograph
tremors assaulting your faultlines
and i took you in my arms,
zipped you into my ribcage to keep you warm -  
you shivered to the rhythm of my pulse,
hot blood exiling
the summer chill.
from the fog of a cold summer,
i took you into my bed,
plucked your feathers
to keep you with me;
made dreamcatchers from your feathers
to keep the nightmares from your mind.
shivering seismograph,
can't fly with bare wings.
through the fog of a cold summer,
i walked with you,
held your hand
anchoring you to my side,
shackles between  us
keeping you safe
[you can't fly in this fog
little seismograph:
the clouds will eat you up
the fog will wrap around you
and dash you against the rocks.
oh, you are beautiful,
but you won't be when you're
bleeding broken on the talus,
your bones escaping your skin.
blood breeds art
but what use is art when you're gone,
when you've found your feathers and flown]
in the fog of a cold summer,
you asked to leave.
i need to fly, you said,
i need to become lost
in arms of mist
and fog.
your ****** arms aren't enough,
your ****** arms are staining me
corporeal.
just keep your arms around me,
just remain in my ribs,
just close your eyes
and let me be your
air currents,
lifting you above the talus.
i can fill all your fault lines,
i can ossify
all your fissures.
i'll fill your hollow bones with my
hot
blood
and exile the summer chill.
in the fog of a cold summer,
in the wake of a muscle spasm,
you fell from the sky
and i caught you,
plucked your feathers
so you could never fall again.
little seismograph,
shivering to the rhythm of my pulse,
i will keep you
so warm.
i'll keep you safe
in my cage.

I thought dreamcatchers were supposed to catch your bad dreams,
and send them flying out your window.
But the only nightmares I have are once I wake up,
and realize that you were all just a dream.

(glow in the dark stars)
A pack costs two dollars
But the joy it brings is worth manyfold.
They laugh,
Calling me immature, childish.
But have you ever been afraid of the darkness the way I am?
When the dark arrives, so does isolation,
and emptiness and hate and pain and self-loathing.
That's all I know of darkness,
so leave my packet of stars be,
they watch over me when no one else will.

(dreamcatchers)*
A bit of string, a few feathers,
and perhaps a bead or two.
Call it superstition, but I believe.
Because nightmares aren't just bad dreams to me,
they are possible glimpses into the future, where desolation dominates,
where the monsters in my head are as real as you and me,
and they tower over and hunt me.
Be sure not to break the string,
for they say all the bad dreams
will be released into the real world.

the ones who chase the sunset
the ones who dream of dreaming on abandoned mattresses
the ones who never sleep
the ones who find homes in the passenger seat
the ones with endless wanderlust and bare feet
the ones who travel with journals on their sleeves
the ones with open minds and prying hands
the ones who finally learned how to speak
the ones with golden tongues and opalescent teeth
the ones with glowing green lights in their eyes
the ones with ticklish knees and bruised thighs
the ones with unheard symphonies in their eardrums
the ones who grow with the trees and bloom like chrysanthemums
the ones with ideas too big for the small town scene
the ones who perform silent spoken word for their television screens
the ones bubbling with spontaneity and sentimentality
the ones with broken dreamcatchers, lightbulbs, and families
the ones who are captivated by constellations and insanity
the ones who make snow angels on mountain peaks
the ones with freckles, curly hair, and rosy cheeks
and the one with olive skin and emerald split ends
the ones with tracing thumbs and laureled limbs
the ones who have taken each others flaws in
wrapped them in silk and blocked out the bitter wind
the ones who weave orbs with moth wings
the ones who still buzz with bee stings
the ones with the power and voodoo
the ones who don't think like you do
the earth, the fire, the water, the air
the ones who can't help but to stop and stare
the misfit poets;
the ones who dare to care.

i can slowly trace the changes-
the moment she picked up an almanac
and put structure around the future
she was a dead woman

now
assume she is you
her ideas threaded like dreamcatchers
embellished with feathers, beads
that sag their delicate threads

assume she is given bait
that she counts magpies
their cloud white throats a portent
that does not sit well around her neck

assume she will live her life
as these things expect

Toast to the guinea pigs
for extinguishing my fear of being alone

Toast to the moon
for being the substitute of street lamps

Toast to the car parked on the driveway
for indicating the presence of my family

Toast to the guitars
for remembering the way they tune

Toast to the fridge in the kitchen
for keeping our food fresh

Toast to the walls of the house
for absorbing the noises I rather not hear

Toast to the paintings
for reminding me of what I’m artistically capable of

Toast to the bed in the room
for keeping my body comfortable at night

Toast to the lights
for providing my room personality

Toast to the tapestries hanging on the ceiling
for maintaining my privacy

Toast to the dreamcatchers
for giving me hope of a good night's dream

Toast to the pictures on the wall
for reminding me of who I am with people I love

I am
a multitude of selves
determined to find
the one
that you wanted.

I am
more safe than sorry
and I
have always been
more sordid
than saintly.

The softness that resides in me
is scarce
but it's yours.

This softness is
the storm cloud over your head
and the ache
you've been drinking about.

This won't **** you
but it'll make you
bleed.

This is
the tiredness that sleep
can't fix,
this melancholy,
this melody,
the holes in butterfly nets.

We are
faulty dreamcatchers.

I can't tell
if this has been calculated
or careless
or which thought makes me more
sick of myself.

But there is something to be said
about a hope
that refuses to die
even after you've shown it
where it is to be buried.

Sometimes I'm not even sure
what I'm sorry for,
but I've learned to say it
just in case.

I was never your baby,
we were just
killing
time.

All alone,
tilted head.

God’s vines fall
around what’s said

Entrapped in rapture,

Jungian shadows
wrap my stature

as

dreamcatchers hold
concepts captured.

Safety in this
sacred space.

Aromatic,
mystic scents

Pressure though

as psychonauts

try to find some


sense.

I may find myself

Playing with the moving expense of
changing past, present and future tense


I fear however

That I’ll waste my time on the fone
with the secretary of Offense

When all I really want to do
Is be singular as the mystic tense.

maybe i grown accustomed to candy coating everything
i touch, especially the truth. but this comfort you provide
is so false and unpredictable, it makes me uncomfortable
and puts me on edge, like the seconds before pulling the
trigger on russian roulette but hear me out, you will never be
above gravity or a example of a tyranny figure, you will always
be skin, flesh, and bones but you hide your skeletons in
my closets and the dreamcatchers don't catch the darkness
the right way anymore, but i am the gasoline and you are
the fire starting in my bones and rushing in and out
of my life like waves on a shore, and i wish gravity
would hold you here but i tore your entire world apart
and i left you to put pieces together and i left a part
of me with you, and i wish i ******* didn't.
i wish i ******* didn't leave a part of me with you.

- kra

i sleep with five
dreamcatchers
above my bed

but i still seem
to have night
mares of you
& me, together
again.


*(mer)

"It’s time for more scorchmarks on the page,
As the Dragon of Eire takes to the stage,
Hear the page rip,under my claws,
Bending reality,shaping the laws,

Time and space switch place at my hest,
Best come clean kid,make a clean breast of it,
Skitz-rips opponents to bits-torn asunder,
Lightning flashes from my claws-Steal thunder
Is heard as I trumpet my triumph to the skies,
Your Nemesis approaches-close your eyes,
Now a hush falls over the crowd like a shroud,
You’re crestfallen-Sandman stands proud…

Roam your dreams,as the judgment shapes,
eyes agog while your heads agape
Draped and soiled,more lambs to the slaughter,
Hear that laughter,lock up your daughters-

From the harbors of Dubh Linn I set sail,
Grim forecasts of the howling Gael,
Are passed to your shipmates word of mouth,
Eyes sealed up-tongues torn out.

Drift down to the seabed more lost souls
Mourn and wail as I lose control,
Of the beast that that prowls from stern to prow,
Some try to repel but soon stand cowed,
As the captain begs for his wretched breath,
Claws pierce his hide with the stroke of death,
10,000 lashes take a grisly toll,
As the ferryman casts his net behold!-

Grim spectres gold scepters lost chapters,
Fever dreams trapped in dreamcatchers-
All behold the lucid waves break,
as The Nemesis sails and leaves a crimson wake…"

So you came back from too many days ago
from a life built of oh so precious moments.
Filling up the space that you left.
Did you make your own?

I'll take you to the pretty places inside my own head
and show you these dreamcasters weaving dreamcatchers.

Where do the ghosts go, when there are no more ghost towns
when the old one forgets...
did we even exist at all?

You're the pressure under my skin
asking
If you're water, can you drown?

i stare up at the same spot on the ceiling
desperate and restless beneath sweet sheets
the fan groans incessantly in my right ear
a drone that can't quite drown out the internal din
a cacophony simmering infernally within

gossamer strands shimmer in the moonlight
spider-webs interconnecting above my head
trapping my hope and retaining my dread
until naught is left but undead recollections
nascent nightmares and frightening images

a half-dozen dreamcatchers spin on twine
suspended intermittently throughout my mind
serpentine figures intertwined in the twilight
adamantine revelations of eternal return
dragons chasing their own tails ad infinitum

sleep is a tease that whispers gently like a breeze
death shares the coffin that doubles as my bed
she ***** everyone but she returns in the end
and when my time comes i'll meet her as a friend
relieved i need no longer pretend to be free

dreamcatchers are supposed to catch the bad dreams,
and keep them out of your head.
i have one next to my bed.
so why is it,
i still have dreams about you?

d.l.b.

Dreamcatchers and
Scented candles
Eerie night lights
With
His hands on my
Love handles ♡