Sit in a crowded gymnasium
on a Thursday.
Basketball is not the point.

Stare at the orange speck anyway.
Silence your phone and his voice from before,
Still inside your head,
words the color of the burnt orange ball.

Find music in the squeak of the rubber soles,
Notice the referee's slanting stripes, and how they blur
when you stare, until even pictures inside your head blur.
Nod to the man wearing the red cap beside you,
whose words dribble across your mind,

They imprinting a message:
travel
next year
last year
time
killing
foul
out
losses
hope.

Maybe you miss that last word,
Or maybe you see the message graffitied on the score board.  
Maybe you close your eyes and open them again,
And notice the white jerseys gleaming in song with light,
The same light that slants up toward you,
Your shirt should also be white,
With the same light shining on those who travel
and on those who foul out.

Sit in the crowded gymnasium
on a Thursday,
and forget about what he told you last night.

What would the world look like
if thoughts poured
through fingertips,
imprinting secrets on
window panes
dinner tables
library books
her arms
your back

I wonder.

I wear many masks if you keep me at a distance
I make an art of emotional masquerades
So if you are wise you will keep me at a distance
I tend to become attached once you let me within arm's length
And you will learn terrible things you didn't need to know
About the things that break me or that broke me long ago
So smile sweetly, stranger, from miles far away
I'm impulsive and imprinting
Hate it though I may

Relationships are fingerprints
Each becomes
You

Whorls spinning into seamless
Connections
Chaotic cosmos

Never Removed
Forever
Embed

Touch
The world
Leave a
    mark

CopyRight©2015 Kelly Chase
All Rights Reserved

Uno sguardo ,due anime perdute ,
Un solo attimo per riportarle a galla !
Gli occhi di lei…
Gli occhi di lui …
Una sola anima ormai !
Lui, forte creatura leggendaria dal spasimato passato
si sente fragile e impotente come mai prima.
Le lacrime di lei  colpiscono più di mille *****,
e il  sorriso …oh! Il  sorriso , non li dà gioia…no,
perché è il sorriso di lei  la ragione della tua esistenza ,
non più la Terra a tenerlo fermo ,ma l’esistenza di lei.
Lo sguardo di lui  che colpisce gli occhi di lei fa invidia anche al sole:
dolce, sereno, colmo di un eterno e sconfinato amore
che gli fa perdere il senso della vita e della persona,
quel amore che è l’unica cosa a poterlo  salvare
dal suo lurido destino e strapparlo  dalle  grinfie  della  solitudine!

Planes fly into the towers
Planes fly from out the craters in the towers

Black plumes of smoke choke the sky
Windowless planes flying into the towers
And now another, now another
The towers rattle
Planes take-off from in the fire
And go off into the city, into the stars
into our minds.
Planes like laser-lights, jetting off,
imprinting themselves
into our minds.

Over and over and over and over
and over and over and over
There were as many as 1,000 planes
or more.

Desks, glass-shards, people 
High-heels, telephones, people
Falling, smashing down from the towers
A Warholian dream 
Dying icons on every TV set, 24 hour access
On every channel 
For months on end
On end

Headlines recoiled by an antichrist 
Rumors he was in Pakistan
In Switzerland, at the mall
In your mind.

The towers burn forever
The towers burn forever
Frozen in pixels online
In our minds.

The first light of day sprung,
as the sleepy town awoke from it's dreams.

The cool spring breeze sweeps across the land,
making colorful dresses and shirts billow gently.

Wispy cotton-like clouds douse the sky,
only letting the robin egg blue peek through.

Silver bells hung on the wooden doors chime in unison,
creating melodic music as the baby grass sway back and forth.

The sugary sweet smell of warm buns linger in the air,
just pulled out of the oven from loving hands.

Children's laughter echoes all around,
their colorful chalk covered hands imprinting the pavements.

And as soon as the yellow light began it ended,
wrapped in a dark cloak.

Tiny shimmers sprinkle the sky,
illuminated by a frothy round.

Slowly, the sound dies,
and one by one the lights go out.

I can't honestly believe you are changing me.

But you are.

Your imprinting on me like a fresh scar.

(This verse is painted for my Loving Daughter P Suzanna Christy on her 8th birthday)

It was the day she began to move out,
She’d been in the cradle of her mother’s womb
Some seven years before silently in her dreams,
And her dreams! Who knows? But He knows.

Her mother, yea, yet to be a mother then!
Then in her travail, yet rejoicing in God’s Gift,
With her friend and neighbors close by she was wriggling.

Her father, yea, yet to be a father then!
Then in his journey, anxious, yet praying all the way,
None but the Father in Christ is beside him.

She reaches the eighth milestone of life,
How she hath reached is by His Mercy.

I remember the day of entry into the world,
She made a cry within and it was not heard unto us,
We could not know why she had cried within,
But we know for she had prayed within,
And now we’ve learnt that her first cry would be to Him.

Her mother’s friend took her in his arms,
And showered thousand kisses on her tiny forehead,
And it is he always the God-sent providence unto them.

Her mother rose from her anesthetic sleep,
And her every breath, it’s the fact, pronounced THANKS unto HIM.
She longed for her God’s Gift and took her in her arms of love.
I watched her imprinting kisses on the silky cheeks.
Every one wept and there were tears of joy,
I collected those tears in the deep of my heart.

She hath reached the eighth milestone of life:
She flutters as the dancing star in the sky,
Like the tiny trout in the running brook she plays,
Sweet like the ripe apple ‘midst the orchard,
‘cross the horizons of joy and laughter she traverses,
Dressed in the Blessings from Above,
She looks purple with floating frilled skirt,
She wears the smiles of her mother,
Filled with friendly wishes from her school mates,
She walks amidst the song of her little blooms.
I can’t hold her joy she experiences,
And so her mother shares it with her
And too with her for she hath carried my prayer in her womb.

She grows with the Heavenly Grace,
And does proclaim the Glory of Heaven in her life.
Now she’s a little plant to grow more flowers,                
And every flower shall be the message of His Mercy

He gave me the key to heaven on earth
He being the man in the orange jumpsuit with the dreds
Out on a patio smoking cigarettes, apathetic
It tasted like grated demon bones

He being the man in the orange jumpsuit with the dreds
Twenty dollars I didn’t have was more than worth it
It tasted like grated demon bones
A five hour violent ****** spilling out of my anatomy

Twenty dollars I didn’t have was more than worth it
It punched me in the face and knocked me to the floor, dry heaving
A five hour violent ****** spilling out of my anatomy
I hold a hurricane in my body, blowing my mind destructively.

It punched me in the face and knocked me to the floor, dry heaving
A collection of extraordinary sensations imprinting my psych.
I hold a hurricane in my body, blowing my mind destructively.
Explosions of laughter, I’ve never felt anything so plasticy.

A collection of extraordinary sensations imprinting my psych
Out on a patio smoking cigarettes, apathetic
Explosions of laughter, I’ve never felt anything so plasticy.
He gave me the key to heaven on earth.

So there was this girl. And I met her my freshman year in German class, fourth hour. Her name was Sophia and I thought she was weird and creepy because she stared and didn't talk and tried to play footsie with me and me being the still-self-loathing queer that I am was desperately terrified that anyone would know I was bi. So I gave her mean looks, didn't look at her eyes, turned from her, ignored her. The list goes on. And then she basically disappears for the next two years. And last year, my senior year, I had her in my first semester second hour German class. And she was different. I thought hey. "Maybe she's cooler now, she's kinda a bit cute maybe I'll get to know???? Her ??? Maybe ???? And so we kinda talked a lil lil bit, but not really talking till xc skiing started, in November. I don't know I what it was, but I thought "hey. She's cute AND smart" so I made up a little brouhaha till I was suddenly driving with her to practice. Every day. And I learned she was kind, smart, funny, hilarious, BEAUTIFUL, kept me on my toes... The list goes on. As I spent more and more time with her, more and more time following her like a lost puppy, i feel deeper and deeper into love. She never texted a lot, so I started to text my thoughts to her with no expectation of a text back. I knew she appreciated them even if she didn't reply. And when she did reply, BLAM! A lightning bolt would slam into my stomach each time I saw her name in my notifications screen. I treasured those texts back, and stated writing poems about her, to her, inspired by her, inspired by HER, seeing her blonde hair every time I looked at the sun, her blue eyes in every lake and clear day and for-get-me-not and her big nose in my mind's peripheral vision and her cute small firm **** and the way she walked, straight up, so solid and set-forth and DEtermined, ******* (though she would never swear) to get to where she was going. I couldn't get her out of my head. Her just, state of being. I'd never met a creature so quietly, yet so determinedly set on who they were and how they were. The way she always knew what to say. I swear to god I thought this girl was an angel. When I looked at her, I wanted to trail my fingers over every inch of her, memorizing it, imprinting it on my bones, that intimate knowledge of you to visible eons from now. I would've climbed through hell for her, to just get five minutes of her, a nod a smile a GEN-YOU-INE laugh *******. I thought about how our bodies would fit together, the ghosting of lips over parts only The Holy Ones know. The way we'd sit together, soft and silent, barely touching but very at peace, and I was planning a title for a book of my poetry entitled "A Series of Notes to the Love of my Life (And a Cherishment of Nature)". I mean I thought this girl, this one in the world-universe, was my everything my holy savior my holy love my holy angel. I just thought that feeling, this feeling that was so intense, was because that was RIGHT. AND must BE. So I fell deeper and deeper, snatching knowledge bits of her that I could, leaving sweet notes and compliments, all over and to who ever for her. I asked her to prom. Through a letter I gave her, with a kayak-Paddler necklace in it. I'd never been brave enough to think about doing that before, ADMITTING my feelings for the girl. I was so smooth and charming and kind (cause I thought she might kinda maybe be gay or at least gay ish way and thought if she was and liked me too she might wanna be going "as friends" or something) and she said yes. I was so happy. It made my whole day better. Forever. I thought about slow dancing with her, imagined pictures floating about in my daydreams, taking up all time and space. And we went. Except she invited her best friend along too who she stayed glued to all night and never danced with me and barely looked at me And I felt like a third wheel to THEM, and so we got home and I was sad and tired and didn't want to do anything but we went on a night kayak and and I told her she was the most beautiful girl there by far and I had so much fun with her and on and on and I was just. So sweet to her how could she not know I like her ****. And she just said. "Oh you're so sweet." And she might've said something else, something idk, but I was just so bitterly in love but wanting her all the same and loathing her with how and by and why I wanted her attention. And I continued falling, ignoring the bitter bad parts of our relationship in favor of the new small things I'd learn about her. And for her birthday, July something, I was gonna give a small box id make in woodworking with a beautifully planned out and executed *** from ceramics with a nice letter telling her how amazing I thought she was and how I might tell her how i feel. And I made them, falling worse and worse daily. So in love. And I awkwardly increased the looks, the poems, the sighs and dreams and wishes. And school ended, we graduated, with pictures and a letter to her from me about how cool she was and a promise of a Better letter with her bday gift. I kept sending her my thoughts, asking her to hangout, (we never did) and telling her I missed her. Well I finished her gift and packed it. The letter, and all. By this time I had tried to get over her. I thought I was (except for the bits that stick with you You Know) and we'd just be friends but-I'm-cool-with-More. Forever. I thought this friend was a Real Deal. Once in. A lifetime. So I gave her the gift, then she didn't open if(or maybe she did and wanted to pretend she didn't open) cause she had a 30-day trip. No phones. I sent her some of my thoughts, not all you know. Didn't wanna overload her texts when she gets back. And I waited, and waited. And it had been thirty days! I Waited for some notification that she saw it, that she opened something. I texted her. Her read receipts? On. She saw it. No reply. I waited and texted and waited and texted. Each message more sour than the last. Eventually I all hope. I said to her I was disappointed in her (I had come out to her as bi in my letter, something I wasn't sure she supported.) so I'm devastated now. I thought she'd be in my life forever, how could an angel like that not stay????? But she's gone. I might never know what she really thought and why she didn't reply. It makes me lose so much faith and hope and love in humanity when someone like that leaves your life. It cracked my soul and I honestly think I might never be able to trust anYONE completely. Ever. Because of a girl like her. She broke my heart and never even knew she had it. Or maybe she did. I guess I might never know. It makes me so sad. She absolutely crushed me, quietly and subtly. I do think I'm ruined for life. Even if only slightly. I might slowly be losing my sanity. I just want to talk to you. Please. What did I do? God I loved you. I still might. Please just stitch my soul back together, even just a little bit.

Substantial quadrants of hate



Throughout these veins circulate



Spiraling in frenzied states



Adrift an ailing coma





Infinite corruption clawed my corneas



Birthing the erasure of euphoria



Imprinting trademarks of memoria



Leaving in wake vile aromas





All confidence dissolved to solvents



Due to definitive involvement



Susceptible to gaunt installments



Marring my skin with melanoma





Mother Earth serves as a mime



Humanity must be refined









© 2012 (All rights reserved)

to live in a society where artistic expression is least expected or not wanted, to live in a society that doesn't allow part-time explorations of a "creative side" of things, to live in a society that doesn't really need art, to live in a society that doesn't make it easy to become artists, to live in a society that doesn't make it easy to become artists, to live in a society that cherishes manual labour and teaches its youth to keep the hands and make do with manual labours as pride-enveloped - the sweat and a goodnight's sleep - to live in a society where art is difficult to muster and call profession rather than a past-time, to live in a society of professional artists likened to the Italian Renaissance, to live in a society where manual labour is prißed (s / z interchange, phonetic antonym proximity: priced), to live in a society where acceptable gambling is shunned like unacceptable gambling is infectious with warnings sold... to live in a state like this... would be to have the stern village everyone-knows-everyone attitude, where outsiders are deemed suspicious without hierarchies of spying organisations... where everyone tends to wear the same underwear - well that would be a society built without a concept of slavery or microwave fine dining... by the way, given the nakedness of English encoding, and the many particular deviations in linguistics and *** alike, you can put in whatever stresses are necessary whenever you see them, e.g. carrot and a carot and shtick - škoda / sh-codices - feel free, explore, the labyrinth is yours - in Polish škoda is a word know as - shame, leveraging on the phrase 'oh well' / '(what) could have been'.*

i used to check my neck-fat dangle bits
and pieces like someone with high blood-pressure,
it was a sorry affair,
i feel more comfortable with a Scandinavian
physique of whale-blubber cushioning
my bones - i told you once, i'll tell you again,
i rather live on ᚦᚨᚱᛁᛖ œyer - got to curl the tongue
rather than simply have a tongue in cheek -
than anyone else - like a thomas hardy novel:
far from the maddening crowd,
obscure, half-witted, raised on an Orca meat diet,
half-sure whether Milan or Venice ever existed,
happy, not really agitated to write poetry,
more agitated to build a boat or fix
a drainage pipe, but not exactly expecting a poem
to be on the cards to be read like tabloid newspapers
are by feet imprinting mud on them discarded
by the time the Evening Standard is printed
in urban streets, promising in hand and fresh igloo
slice of tongue on the index to turn the next page...
later worth less than toilet paper,
that's journalism, at the end of the day
it's worth less than toilet paper, the paper's too rough,
you'll end up cutting your **** up rather than
cushioning out a brown marshmallow - it ends up on
the street, in the gutter, trampled and otherwise,
harsh words about reality-t.v. come with harsh realities...
toilet paper comes with the gentle side of mankind,
seated on the throne-of-thrones, the obscure
fundamentalism of having a heart, being killed while
taking a **** - next of kin: a baby in a ***** likewise fated.

In My Sole
It was just a normal day that we happened to be together. Your hand in mine-us side by side, and then you broke away. You broke away to stare at something from far away so it wouldn't be self conscious of you peering into its soul. You stood there looking so intently at something I couldn't see. I couldn't see what you perceived for I couldn't believe that there was something you saw that I couldn't conceive. So I stopped...I smiled and I took a picture. I took this picture of you staring in the distance with this half acquired smile... a moment in time that I would be sure to keep with me forever. The moment penetrated my soul ever so deeply that I decided to keep the picture somewhere it could affect even the ground I walk on. I keep the picture in my sole... In the sole of my shoe so no matter where I go I'm walking with you.




Faded Photograph of a Photographer
In an old...
wallet
box
attic
was an old faded photograph of a photographer.
Meant to be...
left alone
put to rest
forgotten
it was since then brought back by nostalgia and the impossible life that was now to be lived without you.
You liked to be...
behind
smiling through
holding the camera
as you were the photographer but not this time, as you were the photographed...
In front of
smiling at
holding a pose
while I became the photographer, photographing you, the freshly captured photographer in the faded photograph.
In an old...
dream
heart
memory
you never faded but remained the still whole of a perfect silhouette.
The perfect photographer preserved in the perfectly faded photograph for...
love
life
forever.




The Imprint
I just stood there watching from feet away floating in a time that was once my own, and watching a moment form before me that I burned into my memory. I watched a much younger version of myself sitting with you in all of your perfect imperfections. I wanted to talk to you again, to hear your voice be directed toward me for one last time, but I knew that was something that I could not do for I had already had my moment. If I intervened everything could change, and I would be stealing away precious time from a younger me that would never be ready for anything shorter than forever with you. Instead, I kept my safe distance and watched as the two of you got up from our bench that we spent hours on talking or just sitting in silence. The look on his face-the look on my face was a priceless glance as the two of you walked with interlocked hands in a silence as perfect as a symphony. You then seemed to notice something out of the corner of your eye as you began to glance toward my direction. I drew back at first before remembering that I was not something that could be seen by you, but merely a ghost in time. You broke away from his hand and you continued toward where I floated, and you just stared right at me as if you could see me-as if you could feel me. With your half acquired smile I finally felt like I was home again, and I watched the younger version of me capture a perfect picture of you. With that I was once again in our old attic, holding that old photo, that was taken that old day, imprinting a forever timeless love. A love that would live on in my soul for...
love
life
forever.

I live in Kerala, South India
Where it's usually unbearably humid and hot.
But it’s been rather different lately,
Cool gusts of wind have been brought,

Along with some rains that have turned into floods
Poisoning even fresh water with mud
And so the people, just like the fish our local fishermen catch,
In a net they have been caught,
Leaving friends and family distraught,

Coz trapped by water, a symbol of life,
People have suffered death
And been left to rot
In the houses where water breathes in human space;
Imprinting in our minds a memory we would like to erase.

Everywhere I look I see prayers, with help sought,
But people are just having their hopes shot.
The only grace is that atleast those who have their heads above water
Are having their prayers slowly answered.

I thank God for the army,
Who for the safety of our lives have fought
Pushing through broken homes with everything they’ve got.

I thank God for the navy,
Who have sent men in fleets
Just to save our countrymen off the flooded streets.

I thank God for doing everything to keep us safe and alive,
All so that we would not have to make that final dive.
Quite literally.

Right now, we may mourn this disaster that has led to our demise,
But I promise you, our beautiful state will rise,
And when I say this, I assure you, I speak no lies.

Imprinting herself around me
   a tenderly etched embrace
Integrity of heart and soul
   intact, time shan't erase

A scarab if a beetle
   a nova if a star
An amulet of conviction
   pulsing light from afar

My hand is open to her
   my life freely given
To be loved simply by loving
   ancient wisdom recently rewritten

A shimmer in your eye.
A glance at your face.
Sets my heart apace.
The sounds around me turn into echos of each syllable that comes out of your mouth.
Your lips become my focus.
As it moves my mind traces out each perfectly formed line imprinting them in my memory so that I can dream tonight.
I become a photographer behind a lens.
Waiting, watching as each word is pronounced how it contorts your face.
Waiting, watching for the moment my finger can click the button that will set start to the explosion of light as morning dawns and your face is illuminated catching the perfect timing in a matter of seconds hen your guard has been let down and your heart is revealed bringing to life the well shelter untamed emotion of my meaning to you.
The the shutter closes and once again the wall is up leaving the mind to wonder if the eyes have played tricks on it again.
But the acceleration in the heart beat ask the mind question itself again, if only it can find the right box with the right photo of that millisecond when the heart felt as though it had been struck by an arrow causing the stomache to knot.

I find my mind now begins to daydream
Each and every moment you come near
That even when my eyes begin to close
I see your smile in my mind so clear

All of my thoughts become like a mirror
As your beauty they capture and hold
Imprinting deep on the walls of my heart
The image which each day lights my soul

My heart and mind being easily captured
While each day new feelings begin to rise
In this lovely game as old as earth itself
As love finds a way to place its gift inside

So many moments I find myself to daydream
On the precious moments when you come near
In vain I try to arrest my feelings for you
As the reason for my falling becomes so clear

Deep within, my heart begins to shine brightly
Much more radiant than a thousand burning suns
As I quietly give in knowing I must remember
The joy I feel comes alive because of only one.

You're imprinted on me...
Heartbeat slamming into mine...
Beads of sweat fall on my cheeks...
I get so lost in your eyes...
I love you like this...
You staring at my eyes...
never breaking contact....
Your breath against my neck...
Your hands holding me...
I could just touch your skin for hours...
tracing little hearts across with my fingers...
I always shatter ....
flying into a million pieces that you collect...
and put back together. ..
I'm safest with you...
in your arms...
I'd follow you anywhere. ..
Trust given completely...
I just stare into those topaz eyes and hope to catch my breath....

E.J.M.

I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others

I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****!

bitterness of iron:
remove the milk
in bate of oxen blood spills

a bovine scent coagulates --
two membranes,
five and nine in aluminium

warp the boiling point --
two hundred, ninety degrees Celsius,
left standing, half a day:
cardboard instruction sets carbon constriction

imprinting
burnt hair, burnt hooves  --
the taste of not eating
a liver, raw --

Where is the nameless face
carrying cups of coffee, bought
on a journey
somewhere, and nowhere et al . . .
kindreds, wrapped in the smell of decay:
the uncured hide around his hips,
or was it his wrists, never touching?

October, you are made of dust and I am a gun.
I killed men once.
When I lifted her veil I felt all of their features melt into one.
I smiled, it was all your storm in me.

October, you are a briefcase. You are six months long.
Tonight, there are tigers reaching out over my head
and I am your god out dancing on his weekend, say,
would you look at all your glass, bursting at the seams?
Would you ask him if I ever got there? Would you tell me why I keep pulling your explosive from my chest like a name label? Would you explain how metal peels as easy as skin with the right amount of madness?

October, I am no more than your casualties.
I am every sadness they ever said you would be.
Silver hands. I can carry these men but I cannot hold them up.

Mother, I thought I saw you standing there but it was just a bullet trail in the darkness.
I am buried in all of your letters, imprinting the both of us on the backbones of these papers;
they tell me I've become all the keys you sent.

October, you are a ballroom with all that break break break and I am falling but I haven't even left the ground yet.
When I rain down on you remember me, like the first sunset you ever wrapped yourself up in, and when they say
that I was never a stronghold, show them all the letters I tried to write you but never sent,
tell them about how the flesh ripped from my bones and left me a relic,
ask them if they can hear me breathing over all that storm.

October, you are confetti leaves falling under tyres on your wedding day,
and I can't be the light that catches them, I can't tell you that this world will wait long enough for you.
So tonight I am burning my name like it's the last thing I'll ever have.
And when they bring us home in our body bags,
remember that the choices we made were the choices we wanted to make.

October, you are a dust storm, and all your colour's left in me

Looking out, I hear the croaky calls
Of husky-throated birds and the
Frothy licking of sea tongues.
Purplish azure spreading widely,
Timelessly, when once my Father told me

The beauty was infinite and he smiled at the pair of
Big bright brown eyes
Glowing up at him in belief and awe,
Believing the secrets of the sea
All the wonderful things he told me.
Holding my hand, imprinting the sand
With our shallow foot prints: big and small
My chubby hand in his, the other
Collecting the glossy, opaque nails of sea dragons.
Sometimes we found sharp, dull-colored ones
And these were the faded scales of their leathery tough
Skin. Craggy black wings folded jaggedly-
Mountains, the ignorant people called them
Only we knew underneath those folded wings
Lay a sleeping, ancient dragon with its
Golden eyes watching out for its children,
The White Sea dragons that ran along the edges of the waves.
Speeding on rapidly, diving under
Out swimming the run of short brown legs
Decisively deaf to a child’s sunny yells.
When the sky was littered with stars
Before I began dreaming I could hear
The rush of wind as the dragons unfolded
Their restless wings, the gentle splashing
As their children twisted in and out of the water
And what Daddy said, Sweet Dreams,
Arrived shortly thereafter.  

Yet today I search vainly for their younglings
Gone in sunlight, in the midst of red foreigners
Coming out of hiding after dragon-hot sunsets and
Only behind closed eyes.
The spikes on their powerful wings
Have melded into dark shadows of trees
The jar of multi-colored sea glass remains
By my bed, reminding me of how when Daddy’s eyes
Could no longer burn bright with belief
In such magic, he placed the spark in new eyes
That were identical to his:
In both shape and color.

The mosquitoes supped histamine limpets into our puckered flesh
dew gilted grass entombed our feet in dappled domes
refracting the overhead fireworks
smears of whirling color
accented by smoke mote ghosts

I forgot to wear my contacts
my near-sightedness
makes you giggle nervously -
a hard full body ****** of a laugh
it arches your spine
pulling our hand-holding into an expansion
only the lining betwixt finger inlets
galvanized our pulse

well, that and your voltaic laugh
its flourishing timbre
resonant
reverberant pyrotechnic
thickly glazing aural canal

lascivious tomes penned themselves
densely
upon neural plane
dendrites imprinting chemical insignia
moment captured in impressionistic blurs

7 hours of tears
An incessant cascade
Swollen eyes and pale face
Deep blue crescents carved
With blunt knives
By 1 hours sleep and
All functions cease because
You don't want me

When your 3am text shot me
It hit my spine and I was paralysed
The deepest layer of hell is ice
And that’s where my body resided
Agony spilling over into numbness
As infection set in
I stood in front of the tsunami of misery
And let it smash down on my head

I think it broke my skull
I keep finding fragments of me
On the shores of my subconscious
Trying to gently piece them together
Dedicated to the hunt and
Giving them everything
But they don’t want to come back
They say they need time

I wanted to care for you
Until you forgot how to be broken
But it was muscle memory for you
That didn't leave on whim
You had to break me too
Until I became the floor
Under your feet
That couldn't stop supporting you

I gave you my existence
But you gave me half
And I was still thirsty after
Half a glass of water
On a warm night
During passionate ***
But I'm even more parched
With the nothing I have now

Now I have to erase
Your dancing tiger eyes
Burning holes in mine
And talking
Late into the night
Until we hallucinated
And didn't know who we were talking to
Anymore

I just want you to stop leaving
Over and over
Like you do in my dreams
A thought loop I can’t leave
And even now you’re gone
You still want to play
With the wound in my chest
Picking off the scab when it tries to heal

If you had nails
You'd dig them into my brain
But you chewed them all off
Leaving unsightly stumps
So you resort to other games
Touching me tenderly
Then pushing me away
I hope you’re having fun

We were only alive during the night
You were nocturnal
And I wished the day away
So I could fall into your arms
And admire the contrast
Of our hair and skin
Rich brown on milky white
Gold on black

The sun always anaesthetised you
As it peered into your room
Stealing your essence
Leaving you a demotivated husk
But the night gave it back
And I was always grateful
That I could have the real you then
I gave up my day for my nights with you

I’d wait through all the smoking
Watching you try to fill the void
Hunting for a way
To try and straighten out
All your vicious insecurities
Too scared to deal with them sober
But you never needed to be high
For me to love you

I want my nerves to register
Your teeth clamped on my bare skin,
Pressure around my neck
And hands on my hips.
Your touch snaking all over
My fragile body
With locked lips
And your soft hair under my fingers

You infiltrate every memory
Imprinting your half smile
Behind my eyelids
I can still feel your hands
The lines they traced
I wish they'd trace more
Something to sooth
The hole in my chest

Sunlight shines through the hole but
Even as its edges become less raw
It's still punched through my chest
My heart’s missing
I hope you have it
Because I’d like it back at some point
Maybe we can plant it in the hole
And fertilise it with new flesh

I wish I could make more memories
And lie in bed with you for hours
But you won’t let me
You’re tidal, pushing and pulling
Until I disintegrate
In your sea of indecision
I’ll do whatever you want me to
I just wish it didn’t make me so sad

Miracles escapes your lips in the form of poetry,
And though kisses would also be pretty,
Nothing captivates me more,
Than when your soul,
Pours out of you like liquid misery.
A river of soul and history,
Do me the honor and quench my thirst.
Allow me to see you at your internal worst,
Because Externally and Internally,
All I see is beauty.

There is nothing more captivating than,
Blood ink and calligraphy.
As your words seeps into my skin
Imprinting on my mental cavity like tattoos from within,
A brand of paper that never gets old,
Sometimes its so intense, truth be told,
I hear you,
Even when your thoughts berate you into stunned silence.

Sometimes I just want to reach out and,
Grab onto the illusions that I store in that
Pandora's box in my mind,
Saving every bit of your broken perfection.
Your voice attack my emotions like an infection,
I become more battled-scared than I already am,
But I will endure your blood wars as much as I can,
Only a poet will know.
I exist only because of prose,
And pain, love and foes.