Tonight I dream of spiders
Hair spun, fat filled, scuttling legs
Quiver over my body and thighs
Eyes, ears, mouth, a tongue
A taste perforates through my eyes
Spills into my skull

Splat, Slash, Splot
Scuttle

Tonight I dream of Isolation
My footsteps fall on empty ears
Searching for life
Fearful, Tearful
Ripe with Strife
What does this matter?
I cannot be seen.

Unhear my own quiet screams
Please,
I want to
I need to
unhear.

Tonight I dream of running
An unseen assailant
I know, wishes to
attempt on me harm

You can't be calm
I can't, You can't
I Must
You mustn't provoke me.

I wake reaching
Reaching
Reaching

I find nothing
But empty solace.

Tonight I dream of fighting
Clockwork childhood
Figures slicing at my
face, racing me
to death.
A metal axe, a clawed
arm, walls with eyes,
a broken staircase,
distorted laugh, a
past repeated.
'Treated' to terror
remember me
dismember me
tenderly
race me
erase
me

I can't seem to wake up.

there is a glacier
partially concealed
melting from a climactic
climate shift revealing a
reality congealed by revolt

rebels burdened with
a philosophy that
elevates humanity
insisting we will not grovel
before a vain messiah
espousing erroneous
iterations of ideology

will the human race permit
the iceberg to dissolve
as vapid reformist
rhetoric inundates our
political consciousness with
pragmatic progressivism

or will we rise in resistance
with the radicals
fists clenched in protest and
hands outstretched to one
another rather than
lifted high in praise to a savior as we
witness the glacier solidify once more

as CO2 perforates our atmosphere
with heady highs and noxious toxins
will we succumb like dumbfounded
addicts intoxicated by inoculation
consuming the opiated semantics
of charismatic personas or will we

challenge the corrupt
with our wits about us
facing the sobering corporate
corporeality with the pride
of lions facing a den of thieves

abandon the chosen champion
of the vanguard party
we stand hand-in-hand
7 billion
sisters and brothers
in an anthemic chorus of

solidarity that shakes the
bastions of the enthroned
with the resounding shouts of
perseverance in our
non-compliant defiance

our manifestos are written
in the blood sweat and tears
we've shed for this
dream deferred
and we will not be the
silent majority anymore

the masque of anarchy
is ours to share
will we wear its visage
or will hell freeze over
before we choose
freedom
over happiness

Twisted light perforates the dust filled room and the pungent odour of history hangs in the air like stale bread and old forgotten pantomime costumes.
Yet somehow the smell recalls recollections of a jolly past. Transporting me back through the years, tumbling over and over in the rapids of time until I splash down and emerge as the keen eyed five year old I once was.
I can still hear the shrill screams of play bounce around my head and feel the boy in me longing to join them on the playground outside. I can feel the tight lace wrapped round my hand as I swing my unsurpassed conker to victory. I can still see the bouncing curly locks of the sweet little girls as they hop and skip to long forgotten nursery rhymes.  I can still feel the dried mud caked on my palms sending shudders of discomfort all down my spine and the cold drafts of air through the green hole covered knees of my short nylon trousers.
Swinging the blackboard round to reveal the partially erased remnants of the very last lesson, my mind adopts that old familiar position. Arms folded, head in arms wishing that time would move on.
Sadly my wish came true. Sure it took its time but these days time flows by like a babbling weir stopping for nothing.  
How I now long for that dripping tap like time once was. Those long summer breaks and endless days playing in the meadows where I lived. Even boredom is no longer as sweet. The kind of boredom where you aren't making excuses for not doing something. For these days there is always something that needs to be done.
Oh how I miss the innocence of youth that carefree era where ironically, what you desired, was everything you don’t want now.
Wiping a single tear from my cheek I left my old classroom, hopped over the fence and walked away from school one last time.

We were frolicking through the streets, amusing ourselves
with what was noting less than bliss.

"Points mean prizes my friends,

"Knock the door go on,
"You do it man,

As they walk up to the door one is smiling the other of a
nervous disposition, "relax man,  they discuss the doorbell
or the policeman knock?
The knock is better louder of course attention grabbing
but then other neighbours will hear its echo and curiosity
will awaken them to phones and regrettably police.

The door bell is rang, but not a murmur so repeatedly
they tap it until luminosity awakens and words of
profanity dripped out like a leaky tap. "Dam,
Looking at each other, as hallway lights emerged and
footsteps danced down the stairs a melody of F's P's
and a kaleidoscope of others painted the air.

If I had a swear jar on this house I 'd be a rich man,
as he unlocks the many bolts. "Not a trusting man I see,
The door takes an age to open as we wait eagerly and
then he grinds it open slower than a snail in a race
with a bullet we start to get frustrated.

"Foot meet door, door meet foot,

As the door releases back and the chain is deprived of
its clasping the gentlemen is thrown back not with a
racket but more like slow motion. Then he hits the floor
Like china thrown from a fourth storey balcony.
Then there is silence, "Check his pulse man,
As one of them linger over him listening to what
ever sign of life is left and then like he was reanimated
from the dead he lunges forward and grabs a clump of
hair. One laughs while the other one screams in a girly
kind of shrike. Composing himself quickly, one swift
five knuckle plant and again the gentlemen is out cold.

"You scream like a girl man,
"Did you see that, it was like one of those zombie flicks,
"Ye right, your just a wetter ma man,

As they stood over the man, now joined by his hysterical wife.
Luckily they always carried a roll of duck tape, you never know
when this will come in handy. As the other wrapped it tightly
around her thin lined lips, and the storm became a drizzle of
crying murmurers. Looking at each other knowing that this only
works in the dark they thought of ways to awaken the sleeping
beauty?

"I'll punch him, "Really that got us here in the first place,
Pondering on thoughts one skipped into the adjacent room,
"Dude what are you six,  A silence of embarrassment lingered
as into the kitchen he rummaged through the cupboards like a
homeless dog in the litter bin. Looking in the fridge he found
what was needed.
"What ya going to do rub it under his nose that kipper stinks,
"Some thing like that,

He unwraps it gagging at the odour that perforates the air,
"How can you eat this it smells like a prostitutes well used bits,
The woman smirks in a half terrorized quarter amused mumble.
As he nears his prey fish wrapped in a hand towel, whiffing it
below his nostrils. This isn't working the thought, "F#ck it,
Raising his arm up in the air he slaps the unconscious gent clear
in the chops. He stutters awake in confusion wandering what
was happening then in realization he speaks in ferocity.

"What the hell you doing my house, violating our residency,

"Now that's we like the feisty ones,

An edged smile greets the bound hostages, then the rules are
read out, "Are we listening, the untapped swear tin is about
to release a tirade of profanity on both so they bind his mouth
with what is needed (Shut Um Up Duck Tape) [tm] then silence
is blessed on there ears and they begin quickly to explain the
happenings they find themselves in.

"Why you slumbered we went through your thinks,
"Madam that was quiet a section we found in the bedroom,
"Sir are we on the limp list, there are tablets for that,

"Rules stick to them and maybe you'll survive,
"Not and a lot of bad things can happen,

1. Try to alert anyone they and you die.
2. If you try to escape we have family members addresses
we will hunt them and end them with no hesitation.
3. Have fun as your life depends on it, be imaginative.
4. We have rid the house of any and all knives and blades
5. creativity is the master of invention, you understand.

As the old guy rumbles on trying to speak, he un-tapes
his mouth and listens to his frustrated rabbling's.

"How we know you'll not just **** us,
"This isn't our first or 26th no 27th in fact rodeo.
"There were six of us unfortunately there have been
winners and losers on both sides,
"We are but three lonely shepherds now,
"Three I only see two?
"Our friend is outside guarding the entertainment value
of this diverting fun tonight,

And then without words he said two his playthings,
"You have to the count of 100 to hide to do what must be done
make your peace fight or die its your choice,

They untapped there mouths as to not be muffled of sound
easier to hear on the ear if there crying in fear, and with that
the gentleman gives a capture a five knuckle tap.

"Good shot, and good on you, now run dead man walking,

They both scarpered hand in hand, love will **** you the
other man thought as he watched them run like rabbits.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.................100,
You wouldn't believe it but a hundred seconds takes
quite a long time in the aspect of what were doing.

They at first play games as stomping upon the laminated floor,
so many had ran when they had done this, Idiots. but these
two never flinched, hats off to there courage. Then tactic No2,
we know where you are, were going to come to play with your
insides with our loving blades they like to penetrate you deeply.

As wandering feet did walk on the cold floor they heard the
scurrying of ill footsteps, "we have a rat scampering beneath
our very feet, Both with smiles lingered on the basement footsteps
and slowly descended as what was waiting clambered around in
aimless wondering. Both thought it was the lonely cowering wife.
Not as once thought as the swear box in the darkness gave birth
to profanities and in the midst of our arrival he was weeping like
a new born child. Our knifes were his voice as blood silenced it.

We wiped the memories of his last lingering moments from
the existence of his blade, this fool thought he had strength but
in the end it bled out faster than others before him.
But wait a moment what about the one that blubbered her
fear in a cascade of tears where was she hiding?
"I can smell your fear it sweetens the air,
Both separated to find and cull the last of this herd.

"Please don't hurt me,
"I'm all alone,

He snuck through the hall way hearing here speech in the
darkened bedroom. His knife drawn, to plunge into its
awaiting pray. heading towards the cupboard he thinks
the prey is getting easier these days. "Found you, as
he opens it wide to find a tape recording on repeated play
and a note saying heel *****.... A confused look on his face
till blood seeped silently down his face. In rage he swipes
missing her by millimetres, then she says one final word.
"These are $500 shoes, and gouges it deeply into his throat.

Screaming in gargled silence, his last sight was her giving him
the finger and her foot gently crushing his throat. She got her
manicured fingers and gently grabbed her neck, cracking the
stress out with each crunch.
"There were three little pigs now there are two...
"Oink, Oink, she giggled in nervous thought.

He stood on the stairs shouting in a lulled voice his partners
name, but with no echo of voices he knew that the game was a
foot and another of his clan had paid the ultimate price.
So the husband with all his voice was a lamb to the slaughter
but the wife, the quiet ones are always the ones to look out for.

He was more cautious now that only the two of them breathed,
they were both the prey but who would be the winner of this contest?
he looked upon the box emptied earlier in haste, the gun?
looking inside a note was penned in scribbled in quickened haste.
"If your reading this well done you found only one of my guns,
"BANG,

He jumped back in embarrassment, he looked around in case the
other was lingering in silence behind him. But no one was there
to his pride and ego he sighed out loud. now was the time to seek
the prize, the hunt was needed as in the next room he found the
still warm but deceased comrade with the heel still in his neck.
"That is so not your colour my man,
He thought there isn't many places to hide in this house, yes it
was larger than the pervious ones but that was half the fun or
was It half there down fall?

She crept within the walls this house was of the cotton days,
hiding those needing escape, through the mirror she saw him
wanting nothing more than to end his life.. but she had no
weapon, or was that a false thought as there were the old swords
Sitting ideal in the loft. They were still sharp as she had found out
not but a few months ago. Paper cut my ****... it needed six stitches
but that had now healed as she subconsciously ****** her finger.

He was getting agitated at the aspect that he maybe next,
but brushing aside that thought he went into the mode of hunter,
seeing if odours of perfume lingered in the air but noting greeted
senses except the smell of blood festering on the air.

"Come out and play I haven't got all night to linger in this place,

She could hear fear in his voice he tried to hide it beneath his manly
fasard that was crumbling like a weather worn cliff on the presapace
of collapse. She was a very varied woman that they didn't know,
fear had collapsed her in the first moments but now that had faded
like a sunset, she was a ventriloquist by trade in her youth quite the
entertainer. But she was retired and welcomed the rest, but no time
was there to catch a breath let alone to breathe.

He was starting to think, he should count his loses and leave.
then he heard voices but not from one spot but other places in
the house. Unbeknown to him there was an intercom system
and she was throwing her voices though out the house.
"Who is that , what do you want, How could there be more
than one? There was only two he thought, were  they wrong when
they entered this house? A lone wolf that needed the blood before
his blood was spilt.

She was happy that she took out one with her skills, now it was
the other two players turns she was going to quarter back slap the
hell out of this final invader of her sanity. But how could she play
him? Her husband was dead, she knew that for a fact they were bragging it through out there gloating verses. This was her moment
to show who the wolf was and that they were the sheep herded to
the optimistic place of the final ****, her or them.

She saw him silent and still, she had never seen him this weak, but
this was his chance to save her skin, she found fishing wire, and a
pardon the pun, a broom you know where that went to keep him
stable and up right. The intercom crackled she played his voice
over and over again she used to drive him crazy with he
impersonations of him, it always brought a laugh but the were silent now.

"Come on think I'm dead you cant **** anger you child of
pathetic consequence,  

He feverishly thought of moments past was he dead?
they had gutted him like a fish, how could this be.
Phoning the cover outside he said this was his play and
if It ended he was exiting stage left. One final voice spoke
that he knew the rules if he was to exit then he was to end
his existence, there were rules for a reason.

She was had it planned the recorder the fish wire and that broom,
saying her apologies to her dearly departed but it wasn't anything
strange those toys upstairs weren't only hers you know.
Calling over the intercom, "Lets party you, swear box was
blessed with over a hundred coins the tirade of vocal words she
expelled on the air waves. He recognized that expel of vocabulary
as that person he ended not so few hours ago and confusion ignited
on his features to what the hell was going on in this place.

Stepping in palpitating haste he descended in slow motion, not
with the vigour of what was replayed earlier in the night.
"I killed you once old man I'll do it again,
But fear was expelled this time not courage of the **** like before,
He took played his fingers on the wall to find the switch.
No longer did it enlighten the surroundings, he was in darkness,
and then before him he stood, but he cant stand he had gutted him
and no one comes back from that.

"Who says I'm dead, your just a poor excuse for a mummies boy
go on cry ya little...,

Then in haste he lunged at the oldd man, not thinking straight.
fear and anger eclipsed ratinal thought as he sang his blade into
his skull. Cold eyes stared back, then he realized It was a trap,
He felt it but it was not as he thought he would have felt his
skin screamed out in tears of crimson. A sword was visual
through the front and back of his own self. He swore at her
knowing his time was moments away. she spoke from the dark,

"Its not this that's going to **** you, remember what you found
in the bedroom,

"Oh come on lady just plunge the blade in again I cant move,

But she didn't listen  as she bludgeoned his face with it, different features greeted with each impact till his features were just blooded and
he no longer moved anymore. Her face was a collage of blood from
those she had ended, holding her husband in her arms stroking his
remaining hair. Kissing him on the head she gently put him down.
Opening the porch door she spoke out, "I have ended this playtime
I am the queen of this house, the others are still, static you going to
end me now?

"Rules are rules I'm sorry but I must leave you now,
"Congratulations for winning your life,
"Sorry you lost whoever pasted in the game,
"Know if they had walked out they would have been dead,
"Rules are rules,

There was silence, then on the doorstep she rested her bloodied hands
on her knees and tears of fear, of courage poured out.
She was the winner of this even though she felt totally lost.
Sirens were heard in the distance and she just sat there still....

The wind is caught between a scream and a roar;
This whistling perforates my eardrums
like a teapot sitting a atop the fires of Hell.
Eyelids fused shut, that wind's lacerations try
but are just unable to pry
these empty brown eyes
and reveal the truth of the lies.
So I fall right through the clouds
with no turbulence on this descent,
and as Earth's elements charge my accelerated pace
I ready the barrel in my mind I've prepared to face.
The shot breaks life's hold on me beyond a trace,
and my eyes are finally open, witness my disgrace.
As water fills my lungs,
I can only hope this ship will sink.
I can't help but descend and think
I've erred as I near the brink
of the ever distant horizon.

The bright piercing moon,
perforates
the anvil black sky.

Tallying our time,
as it blooms and subsides,
like a grandfather
winking
a supernal eye,
surveying the lawn
of perennial pawns
and infallible annual gods.

With a logic all its own,
it salutes and bemoans
the Great Sphinx’s nose,
and the wind scattered scraps
of the Rosetta Stone.

Some seer will come,
before too soon,
or a scientist,
wont to presume,

But in gold and stolen
myth they’ll stand ,
like fraudulent kings,
yelping lambs,
flaring though spring,
with bluffs in hand,
until they wither
unto grains
of sand
.

I.

The Good Death
    I hear thunder burn and crack against the window panes again tonight,
frightneed by the shapes on my wall
I press my body closer to you -

where are the veins? thumping, still
eternally (as always)

But blood - little sacrifice to a man never afraid,

always naked
always burning
always longing to be a wall and never surrender.

You wear my clothes
   mirror my eyes with silk.

II.

A flash of blonde hair in the darkening hours as the crack
of thunder breaks    against the glass
       “Metaphysical.”

Gabriel  ?
  Something thicker, more permanent.
I see only the shape of your nose cast shadows
against the wall
to swallow the devils fingers
with a smile.

Blonde hair in the sand,
in my sink
broken up by ****** teeth
   and cracked porcelain.

Shaving cream drying on the taps.

III.

The almost platonic revelation that all exists as one
breaks from your lips like water,  

The smell of bleach perforates the boundary between my bathroom and God.

My scalp burns, swelters.

   I realise them as my lips,
for you are simply the shadow
made manifest by forest wire and broken glass

walking barefoot and naked through hell -
I create you.

Come, tell me of how to accompany paradox that
builds us from the ground up

the one and the many
burning bridges in sunlight
to guide us.

Breaking bones in the silence to free us

31.  
Funny what you think of after a collapse. While lying in the dirt the first thing that comes back is never quite what you’d have guessed.  Or envisioned. Nor assessed the second time around I digress. And they play back like a movie reel. Funny how things come harder the second time around. Were reliving memories, like watching movies with no sound. And if you could have, you probably would’ve. Said you’d check if all your limbs were intact still and then try to get out. But whats the point in running away? Was there a point to be made? Did I even make it? Now that I mention it. I believe ive forgotten to regret and repress it. And if the spaces are narrow. And all the walls begin to look the same again. Is there really a place far enough? Are there visions in the pavement, a beautiful arrangement, and sophisticated places. Where you could dwell on the past. But still remember why you hate it. This is wild imagination. Its purely entertainment im painting in color, but im running out of room. In fact, running out of time even while im just standing in place. Its like im drowning in the water but im standing on concrete. It’s the land beneath my feet.  Am I losing my mind? The equivalent to falling bricks. When you’ve got wings but theve been clipped. And they think you’ve got it all figured out. You know what youre doing now don’t you? You seem happier now don’t you? Why don’t you tell us your secret. Why don’t you voice your opinion. As if there was any secret at all to be kept, I digress this is the mess within my head ive tried to keep buried and or left for dead again. And this quiet silence is piercing. The silence is violent, how it drags you down with frigid grips at the ankles. Whispering “come home again”, “weve missed you for some time”. But you ran away for a reason, so why the hell would I ever come back? And then the flashbacks come, breaking in unannounced. The things ive kept forgotten for so long. The faces. The people whos names became blank spaces in my head.  I remember once they came in said, “You think this is bad? You don’t know the half.” And they laughed. It’s funny what things come back. The first things you see. How they sort of smiled like it’s only a joke but they were lying. There was something else inside of his eyes. All those secrets people tell to little children. Are warnings that they give them. Like, “Look, I’m unhappy. Please don’t make the same mistake as me.”. Because I guess im only a joke. And my life is just one big comedy. But nobodys watching. And ive stopped laughing along to the track. Because I gave up on everything. So why do they constantly visit me? Do you know what its like? To give up on love, well it hurts,to give up on everyone you used to trust the most. There are ghosts, and there demons, and they all live within the walls. In every room you ever visited. In every crack and fracture in lonely halls. So they speak out in volumes. And you try not to listen. So they speak up a little louder, from a hum to a whisper. And its sinister almost inaudible, yet it resonates so loud. It becomes so much it almost perforates your eardrums. Why are those old worn out jokes on married life told at toasts at receptions still? How does it never occur how easily people are burned? And how easily people are afraid to trust or want or feel or want to trust to feel? Speak slow, the echoes in the shadows know. They hear you in your sleep. And the way you shift positions in your dreams, the darkness peaks in through the windows as the light dismisses itself. Almost polite, almost embarrassed. Everyone knows were afraid. Afraid to feel the same pain we discovered a few years back and some days. So we want nothing to do with you. I was happy for once, I was doing just fine. My timeline was becoming redefined, and I could stand on my own without anyone’s help. Especially not the people who pushed you off the edge in the first place. Those who left you to drown in yourself. The very same people who tied your ankles to cinderblocks. The very same who promised you safer ground. And then the earth quickly broke away. Why they then offered you their hand in safety. You’re a contradiction, a manipulation. A fabricated idea of what it meant to have someone. I gave you trust. I gave you visitation rights. So if you believe this is about you, then perhaps the shoe fits. Funny what you think of in the wreckage, lying there in the dirt and the dust and the glass how you’re suddenly somewhere, in the desert, in the nighttime, and it’s getting close to something like Christmas. Something warm and familiar. An open ended idea of literature written about a time where things felt, and smelt much similar rather than simpler. Glance back, I remember how irresponsible id been. How pathetic I was to blame everything on people instead of myself. I was sadistic, and intolerable. Improbable and pathological with the things I spoke. How did I ever manage to expect to keep anyone around? When all I did was keep my mind occupied. Not occupied with anything but shallow thoughts of insecurity. When that summer ended we came back I was jobless still. I guess in retrospect I should’ve sensed decay. Then that day, how you said, “I just don’t know” and I promised. We’d rearrange things to fix the mess I’d made here in some way. And that goes in the same cycle. And that goes in the same way I lost everyone I had. But I guess in the end we just moved furniture around. Don’t you get it, your demons never left. The demons in your head never moved out. They simply moved the furniture around. But I guess in the end it sort of feels like every day it’s harder to stay happy where you are. There are all these ways to look through the fence into your neighbor’s yard.  Why even risk it? It’s safer to stay distant. When it’s so hard now to just be content. Because there’s always something else. Now I’m proposing my own toast, composing my own jokes for those times I stayed afraid in bed. But never again. Noone will ever have control over me. No one should ever be that deserving or ever so worthy. And maybe I’m miserable, but I’d rather run forever in the opposite direction, than suffer your jokes again. This was just a well composed reminder, to never leave the doors open for old friends

when the ice breaks beneath our feet
will you wake up next to me
in the hospital bed?
with an intravenous drip in
your forearm again.
the aroma of ammonia perforates my
limbic system and emotions and memories
just gush into me relentlessly,
sheer bliss funnels through
the corridors and chemical stores
and finds its rest in my room.
the walls are moist with dopamine.
my bones could break with the weight of
this happiness and it'd only drag on
for longer.
i'd wake up laughing and it made
everyone uncomfortable.

We were strangers among the stampeding crowd,
But fate has played us along;
As our heartbeat synchronizes out loud,
Singing the story of a broken song.

Our sun shines in the East,
but never dwindle on the West-
this strange feeling of bliss,
drifting in the chamber of my chest.

Daffodils dance in the scorching daylight,
As the breeze blows gently-
Oblivious to the inevitable flight,
Of an encumbering drizzly night.

Aurora borealis perforates the lone darkness,
Swirling in the starless sky of the North-
The way you eliminated my sadness,
And brings me comfort and madness.

The river cascading in an endless stream,
Splashing a cold brackish water-
These tears of misery and grim,
I will forever endure in my dream.

The moon is high as the tower,
The night as silent as the elm street-
Misery has once again devour,
the little joy turns bittersweet and sour.

I love and love and love unconditionally,
But the pain is searing unbearably;
I looked at the stars and heaven,
And realized we were strangers again.

I'm crawling on the floor
skinning my knees in an effort to reach that ever sought
intimacy-


I want to drown in it,
I always have,
the strange desire
suffocating my fear glands and stifling the silence with a warm glow of love and beholding.


How far will I travel to feel the touch that I remember from the last life,
calling me to London, to Paris,
knowing that I will find you there,
cowering in the dark streets you will find me,
showering down on me like a sun ray,
beaming me out of my depression and back into solidity,
of self-knowing and respect,
as well as adoration for one another in the quiet night
under a foreign sky,
and a warm blanket.

I know that it sounds of a benevolent kind of love,
a trying kind of love,
but it is right;
it is the kind of love that oozes out of my pores in the morning,
making my skin smell of honey and daisies as I rise.
The kind of love that perforates the tears and the pain,
cutting deep into my core and filling me
as if with blood,
but a new (true) love instead.

Your *** matters not,
yet I want it.
I want to fill my hands with it,
inside/outside of each other,
back and forth across your cashmere soft skin and soul,
playing the same childhood games to remain sane
where we are for all rights, lost in the translation of love,
lacking oxygen, but not lacking each other.

Here we caress one another uncontrollably
in a quest for sensation
but as we are so far,
a lack of libation
in turn,
until we are once again
twins in flame and love, and space.

Strong.
Perhaps a knot of muscle or
a face to wear.
Or the bartender's hand slipped.

Fragile.
Maybe a shattered glass orb or
a note about to break.
Or our egos.

Dark.
Like Edgar Allen Poe or
the center of a black hole.
Or 5:00 in winter.

Light.
"Let there be" or
something that perforates the night.
Or just the pillows,
shedding feathers through
tiny linen holes
that float down near the heating vent
then explode upward in the gust.

Invisible people
Figment of my imagination
Borrowed in my subconscious
touching and reaching
grabbing and pulling
whispering and fueling
Fear and doubt
Insecurities and pain
Every second
Of every day.

Their whispers
perforates my self-esteem
withers my self-belief
deteriorates my self-image.

My mind feels like a battlefield
A constant fight of not caring
of what they think
or say.

For there are days
When I set my mind
In to prioritizing my moment
passion, purpose, fun, and life
And not care.

But some days
they encroach into my mind
Seep through the cracks
Diffuse between the synapses
firing terror.

Letting me stare once more
at my own abyss.

If I  had a box of wishes
Of dreams and secrets
I’d stow it away, safe.
For keepsakes.
Stretch the seconds endlessly
Those that held you and me.
Extending time to infinity.
I would stash the words
That you made true.
The box of wishes,
Would have the whispers,
The touches, glances
Kisses you stole,
Your all-consuming love
Took me myself as a whole.
Moments that we owned.
Locked in a space.
Little did I know.
The box of wishes
Perforates time.
It reeks of nothing.
And leaves behind
painful memories.

A forest of spring-green lilies
perforates the earth
between our house
and the sidewalk.

And you can think
of nothing else.

the pit in my heart
perforates your halo
floating, broken apart
is it wrong to love you?
i cant help but love you

the hole in my head
has nothing to say
the valley in my bed
judging me smugly
just like everyone else

In the solemn silence of a night
insomnia sets and hold a hand
tears flow into a torrential waterfall
memories erode and load eventfully

Bitter drops, the emotional elope
enveloped to the uncollected past
one that pats with no relieve and closure
such a long, lonely and unspent night

The gut perforates and intuition collates
Yet it's time to leave the ship and it's heat
reform to seed, form to proceed
as the emotion tangles and rumbles

the needle
is dipped in blood
not mine
but yours;
the blood of your broken heart

the blood
leaves trails of lines
like tally marks
showing how many hearts
you've broken

these tally marks will never be
erased;
they shall burden your soul with regret

the needle perforates
your most intimate parts of your mind
the ones hidden deep in your heart

the needle will never cease
your blood is
on your forehead
in clear crisp words
is written

A F R A I D

(b.d.s.)

Seasons come and goes, as rains perforates
Over the thunder and torrential
creeps
abounding a thousand miles and paths
variable stories of the lost in life and love

She found him until the old age struck
now she is lost in the dark gloomy rooms
enclosed in foreign memories and melodies
of when the lights faded and ceased

I found her clipping all stricken wings
footing the floating broken nest
uncontent to move from how it was
enclosed and supposedly destroyed

She sells true love and its mystery
Ohh how I never believe in fairlytales
Or go to the strange places where it hides
Is it true that love can be so special?

Behest affectations
Of ichorous
Vermillion hues

Whence wrought
The hapless news
Of old and botched
but brilliant muse

A portentous ruse
Thence propagates

How
Be it made
in essence
Can the fleeting mind
Betroth itself
To ineffable haze

As languish
In ethereal
suspension

I am recognized
in blindness' gaze
And souled to apprehension

Psychic binds within the mind
Which tie to tides of indecision
Droll and blind,
detracted vision

Penetrated ambiance
An effulgence of madness,
driven
Forced into the everlasting

Armor of the psyche,
casting
In avasting sorrow,
perpetration

Squandered passion,
true elation
To an empty haven
Of the sanity's forsaken

In blissless bemusement
unfounded mitigation
perforates the soul

Reiterate the whole of instigation wrought from voided innocence

I am duplicitous indifference
which inference dispenses of

No plan to back up
All you’d lose
Just haven’t yet
Learned to refuse
The risk adrenaline
Incites you,
Tempers you,
And reignites you
So exciting,
Then it’s not
Now failure
Perforates the plot
And disappointment
Disapproves
Embarrassment
Disquietudes
Can’t even watch the morning news
Without your judgment
And disdain
An older form
Of growing pains
Would not dyspeptically
Emerge
In caffeinated stressors
Surge
Convergent point
Of no return

Dark wine and cigarettes impress my mind with kissing lips.
And your voice unwinds me like vinegrette.
The sour scents of pitted sweat get burried under vanilla breaths.
As cherry vine perforates my tongue divine.

And when you lay next to me.
All the twisting torments fade away.
Now I've come to see,
how the romance in this world can shine its pay.

It's empathy for those who dare it.
Sympathy for those who share it.
And Reverie for those who know love's game.

It's beauty in the plains,
Like sweetness in the fame.
And soft whispers calling out our very names.

fermentation permeates
thumbs its holes
perforates     the surface
    in her turning state

                 +++

her aged clammy skin
     is sacky suit
       and patched with the marring
          of toxin exhaust
her worn molt gowning
       clothes it all in

her belfry ?
  there is no sage here
place held ;
     there is a broken variation
        of some childish penitentiary

though her matter is paddy and pollute
her being is parched
she is expulsion in progress

setting :
positioned
  opposing the other physically
      in form of a cold interview
we are in a breakfast café

i will not reach for her hand
  though she'd like the comfort
with no asylum given
  what are her words to be ?

i wait
(i cannot manage a kindness
  her mangy carriage promotes nausea)
i wait
(i'll not reach for her
  her actions in our family wicked life
    she provokes no trust or warmth)
i wait
(i'll not be the first to speak)
      
if there is anything left to say
talk now ?
i feel a little quickening
what are your words, old heck ?

her hands fit about like moth
she ignites a cigarette
the life fights out of her
right then

no spores
only resin
she passes in front of me

she said not a word

i awkwardly pay the bill with quaking hands
and leave her there

i am homeless, without a mother
-scattered-
she is ultimately homeless now