In the bloodbath of a dream
I went sleep-walking into Eden-
It was burnt to the ground
I smelled the charcoal, tasted the flames
While in a cloud was a huge forked-tongue
That got me thinking of the letter M…
I hopped around to other worlds
Perceiving the events with a cautious schoolgirl nature
I watched chemicals and stars do their ****** dance
Twirling endlessly into each other-
Creating a carnival of colorful exploding death and rebirth
I felt the ghosts in their fortresses eye up the hourglass-
Wondering when time will be broken and they’ll be set free…
There’s blood on a rainbow down by the waterfall
It stained my soul and put my thoughts to rapture and ridiculousness
How far will they go, the demons of this world,
When a measly human breaks their code,
Smashes their hologram mirror,
And realizes that everyone everywhere has always been alone
Everyone everywhere is their own god-
And everyone else, with their dark interiors,
Is there only to torture the blamed
For a mistake they can’t remember…
Lost in the remnants of a dream
I unlocked the gates to hell
And realized that life on earth is purgatory-
There must be a heaven on another astral plane,
A dimension without pain-
Of all the universes in existence, I hope that one bleeds through
Before I wake up to a world where God is dead
An angels fall like shooting stars that wish to remain unseen-
Extinction.

Tactile
tattoo touch
feel my ink (touch me)
dig in deep (hurt me)
chills (make me moan)
luxuriously lifted

Shh stay quiet
don't let anyone
in.

Cat scratches
claw marks and
old souls
you and I

plagued and incessant
goodbyes
just as we said our hellos.

Shall we leave it at that or prolong this passion
because I'm a selfish *****
but a lovely babe

licking up your spine
and misplacing the remnants of time
tugging at the hair on your head
trying to find my way to the depths of your mind.

oh darling, i wish i could be
your big ice cream cone in the sky,
but i am no longer searching in the rye
for a catchers net woven
of arms, heart, legs ****** open,
i am just beginning to arise
on my own horizon, arise
into my new wild garden,
and my nectar is ****,
but if you'd stop *******
all the berries from my bushes
dry dry dry,
maybe you'd stop being poked
by bare twigs in your eye.
see, or rather UNDERSTAND
my side of lines crossed, and don't bind
in hindsight my once defined mind,
it was cracked wide open
with the strike of pure lightning,
skies poured in to no end
and i learned to float on remnants
of half-baked sentiments,
you barely took the time
to stir the eggs shells out,
or maybe you never noticed
them crunching in your mouth,
but i saw every last white message
of your hastily harnessed hostage.


you keep telling me that you don't know what to do without me,
but frankly darling, you never did anything with me.

What am I doing with my life?
Round and round these thoughts spiral -
Same old concerns, same old complaints;
Any ego left, nothing but remnants
Of something always fragile, never solid, never whole,
Down the rabbit hole again.
Doors close - do any open?
Am I chasing my tail, destined to fail?
Am I losing my mind, trying to be kind?
Are my pipe dreams hallucinogenic?'
Can I overcome these genetics?
Around the corner - who knows what?
Maybe I'll succeed, maybe I'll be shot?
Getting old without a rudder -
Makes me scared, makes me shudder.
In this whirlpool of doubt and self-loathing
I'm drowning - searching for answers, receiving nothing.
Pitiful words are an inadequate reflection
Of someone trying to communicate without a connection.

I see faces and flowers
on loose pages—
it smiles at me from
a crumpled paper, addressed
to the fire, its embers were
keeping it ablaze.

How happy it was to paint the
room blue in the middle of summer,
dancing through the sound of the creaks
under my footsteps— everything is just right.

How treacherous it was, a wistful memory
they were remnants of unsettled stories
and unforgiven departures; I stood
on a shipwreck
where everything is a lost.
the uncertainty would be tall
and I am more will for the fall,
are these things crosses your mind?
I wouldn't bear crossing out your name.

This is how we paint room blue; creeping
on the cracks of the floor, memorizing your
gaits as I follow your traces.

I wish I could take all my emotions and fold them neatly
and place them somewhere so they can develop dust

Take my emotions and peel the away from my being
To the point of the numbing pain is felt no more

Erase My emotions with an eraser and clean the paper
and blow the remnants away

My emotions betray me letting me feel what I don't want to
They make me think irrationally as if I were drunk
They make me think of what I want but can't have

Emotions be gone
Be gone from me and don't come back
For I long
To be alone and not be attacked
By Emotions

Second year started
And so did her second round of battles.

Her struggles with the voice in her mind amplified
Walking around campus terrified
Alone.

This creeping sense she wasn't okay
Slipped more into her mind each and every day
But I'm supposed to be better, what can I say?
Silence engulfed her.

Reaching out seemed like reaching across a chasm.

That voice is relentless, it never stops.
Anxiety and depression come out on top.
Controlled by her disordered mind.

On the outside, "I'm fine"
Her weight hasn't plummeted so she's fine.
She's fine.

Walking on a fine line.
Between two walls closing in.
Remnants of an eating disorder on one side and anxiety on the other
Threatening to crush her.

Yet no matter how far the chasm may seem,
it's another illusion my brain just perceives
Help is all around.
There is no shame.
Asking for help won't taint your name.

Reach.
No matter how far your arm has to stretch you will find something to grasp.
Helping hands to push the walls apart.
Helping hands so your life doesn't seem so dark.
Helping words to counter that voice.

A second year started wrong,
yet it's never too late to turn things around.
To diminish that voice until it's just a faint sound.

A second chance to grow.

In a dark leech infested
swamp I found you yet again
haunting me behind the
cage that is my eyelashes

I find no peace within
my own darkness
The sacredness of my solitary
mind has been corrupted by

the demons which have
infested the remnants of
some flesh I once loved

In the swamp I am
choked
and
thrown
and
******
and
drowned

I feel it all but am paralyzed
by the curl of your lips
which seem to conceal a
glimmer of hope

I heard you got hit by that train on your 17th birthday
Smoking **** on the tracks
Too bad it was only my dream

I wish the fall onto concrete left scars on your face instead of scrapes

I wish the cops caught you that night
Or the night after that
I would have wanted them to lock you up

You threw away the key to my heart
Pressed it flat like a keepsake penny made by machines
I wish I died when I crashed my car for the third time in a year
I know you wished I hadn’t walked away
Wish you weren’t the first person I texted

It has taken me nine months to start getting over you
Its been 5 weeks since I last cried in vain over your memory
It has taken the touch of six men to scrape you off of my skin

I heard every seven years all of your cells renew themselves
By 2019 you will have never touched me
I find some sort of peace in that

It has taken me nine months to think about loving someone else
But here I am
three weeks into a relationship and I'm doing perfectly fine
without you

I still know your middle name and the sound of your laughter
But somewhere I have forgotten your favorite color
I remember where all your hidden freckles are
But I have forgotten the weight of your skin
I could draw your bones on canvas with my eyes closed
I could not color your eyes in or the shape of your lips

I suppose I’m getting closer to forgetting you altogether
There are still remnants of you
Like 2 year old gum stuck to a sidewalk
Is it ever really gone?

Now when people think of us
They think of us as separate people
They pair you with the girl who salivates on your arm
Love was never the mistake
You were the mistake

Im stuck here with burn holes in my thighs
With vacant lonely eyes
I used to call you:
H o m e.

I should have never let a boy matter so much
I am made of stardust and rot
Never should have let you in
You never made me feel as special as I did to you
Dropped me in your kitchen when things got too hot
Looked at the shards on the floor and didn’t bother to sweep me up
Never thought about gluing me back together

You always said you didn’t know what youd do without me
But you do know
Today is six months with the girl you supposedly love now
Her name still makes me shudder a little
and when I saw you last I cried for 20 minutes
It burns me in unseen places to look at pictures of you two together
It burns me to know I am not the one you want

...Then light gives way to shadow ‘neath
and wind doth surge through cold cliff’s teeth
The ship finds doom among those rocks
just as a city o’er come with pox.

How the ****** cry, a riotous swell
without anger, fury, none will tell
The story dies as the pinnace snaps
another secret lost in gaps

‘The skiffs!’ they screamed a’running quick
but salvation dashed, the tides too thick
Each man, a child, cannot swim
their bodies thrown, the ocean’s whim

No remnants left upon the shore
the men aboard were seen no more
Wives and sons a’wept and wept
the sea forever in contempt...

Old age turns the page . . .
the leaf thrives from underneath
Days are made out
of hollow light . . .
night now remnants
of silence in grief

The air I breathe
once was your life
Yet our blood never mingled
Upon every page turns
the green leaf in air
The binding spine . . .
the trunk's despair

The templars took the cross
and made it a religion rose
a psychological overseen dome
of acquiesce and admiration

What if there weren't any slaves?
only mercenaries who craved
for power and a subservience rave
across the vast seas and distances

We trace the Omlec race in Americans
way before Colombus leaped his strides
as they left scented archeological remnants
of basalt and granite sculptured rights

The templars took the cross
and created glorified corded bonds
aesthetically covered with an overseer
of utter deceit and embellished conmanship

There is life outside my window.
Fresh winds blow from the east,
Bringing with them crisp ocean air.
Creeks and rivers are washing,
Whisking away the last remnants of winter.
Through my window, I see the sun,
The sky so blue and a world anew.
In my room, through my window,
I observe, with experiences few.

Within my room, through my window,
You may see me, trapped,
As if bound by iron rings.
The trees are ready,
And I too, am
Ready to shake hands with spring.

You know
I actually
kind of hated you
for a little but
when I saw you
in my dreams
I realized
that there was no one who
I could ever
hate as much as you
because
the love I have for you
makes me regret
every second
I took for granted

and when
I try to remember
those days we would spend together
I only see
your hair
but not your face
when I reach out to you
you somehow
manage to elude
my gaze to yours
and I only see
the remnants of something
that should have been

You walked
not further from me
but closer
and you stood there
you keep standing there
and whenever I try
to get the slightest bit closer
you dissipate
into the most beautiful
and haunting mist
I've ever
attempted to grasp.

Got a heart with a hairline fracture, every beat making it break faster.
Pain spreading like a growing vine,
pulling like the string around my heart, twine.

Got a brain with a minor clot,
that can only be solved with a single shot.
Pain pushing like an unborn child,
working it's way through the system,
making me wild.

Got a hand with arthritis,
means I don't have the touch of gold like King Midas.
Pain aching like an old widow's heart,
never mending, completely sharp.

Got a life that's all messed up,
like the remnants of a shattered cup.
Pain stepping like a high heeled girl,
thinking she owns the world.

With all these things I still manage to have you,
a love with bipolar disorder.
Another thing ripping through my aorta.
Pain scolding like hot oil does the flesh,
how'd everything become such a mess?

Doctor's give me a week to live,
as I think of people to forgive.
Guilt springing up like a daisy bed,
something in need of weeding before I'm dead.

Faces flashing in and out,
my mind a flowing spout.
Drifting off to sleep, to faint clicks,
the sound of your heels in my mind just sticks.
Waking up to your face,
put my heart in a strange place.

When I received the sorrowful news,
all I could think of was telling you.
You, who changes your mind twice as often as the seasons,
for which you give very few reasons.

Love expanding like my last breath,
consumed with you and with my death.
Sensing your words as I fade away,
begging me to please stay.

Often times my mind does wander wildly
Thoughts where I wonder who I would be
Without my past flames that kept me sane
And without my darker days would I have still remained the same
Or would I be a lesser version of me now
Immersed in the aversion of my mistakes and doubts
Cause we all know I've got plenty. What's new?
Maybe one day maybe I'll see things from a different altitude
My higher learning certain forever searching for a purpose
I may never find cause nothings ever perfect
Deepening lines, wrinkles in time, and broken remnants
Of who we used to be, whoever we are, and what we're destined

I am tired of the Americans chasing their opaque neon dream
I am tired of well tailored speeches justifying wars
I am tired of the dusty remnants of a roman lie striking fear into the hearts of many
and an absent god forcing his framework on an apathetic world
and I am tired
I am tired of constipated museums
and the few dictating the sonic landscape of the many
I am tired of horse meat scandals and frenzies over crashed planes
and I am tired
I am tired of globalisation being an auction for the lowest human rights
rather than being
wasabi peas at Tescos
And sleep is the cowardly death
of the feelies and TVs of the world

In utter darkness is when we finally see
The true person that dwells within
The false shells that we spend out whole lives perfecting
Brakes away and slips into absurdity
Morals we once held so dear, seems pointless in the end
The monsters that we had avoided, becomes our new found enemy
Forgotten demons rip new wounds into our slowly dying bodies
For the first time we see our own morality
Death's scythe is already to our necks
In the arrogance that we foolishly create
Drains the vitality from our failing forms
We forget out pride
And make our fears a silent cry
Feeding beasts that feast upon the hollow shells of the fallen
The scythe inches into our fragile necks
Sitting in the shadows, we rid ourselves of our masks
Allowing the old wounds to bleed, welcoming the pain
Ending the eternal numbness
We hold onto our regrets, and allow our success to die
We try to form meaning out of the ashes from our lives
The withering remnants of our soul starts to fade
Slice your precious neck
Surrender
Bleed
Die.

The heart is the most fragile of the body's parts,
so when it is broken, the hardest to repair.
She stumbled upon the best temporary cure,
one which with you I'd be happy to share.
She pulls from a drawer, the simplest tool,
though some may call it a weapon.
The cold metal kisses her pale skin,
and the crimson flow begins.
It flows like a river, the Amazon, the Nile,
it blends with her tears and it goes on for miles.
Her skin no longer red when the remnants are cleared,
a deep scar she'll always hold as a souvenir.

Preacher's Son

You spoke like a preacher,
Marble mouthed messenger
Of the rules of your domain.
You let your tongue slither words,
Voice deep, booming, bass thumping
Coursing through my chest, beating.
This was your weapon of choice - 
Each syllable a warning 
Of what was yet to come.
Your pulpit a collection of your vice,
Beer bottles, ***** jugs, remnants of snowfalls.

You are nothing more than 
A false idol,
And I will no longer cling
To your drunk speech
Or grovel at your feet.

Go crack your hammer hands
The ones that nailed my praise-song
Shut to my throat to make me meeker
But these hands were still free,
Free to write silence across your lips
And I hope these thoughts pierce you like darts,
Like spears of defiance.

This is no longer your church, 
And I no longer your son 
Worshipping the verbal lashings as Godly,
Laudable. No longer seeing bruises as adornments
Of unabashed, deep down spooky love.

Your hair is growing longer
as mine grows shorter.

Hair does that.
Sort of.

The remnants
of whatever we shared
fade
as time speeds up,
the length between our visits
and our conversations
growing,
from weeks,
to months,
and possibly years.

We see just snapshots now.
Each greeting
a glimpse
                   into
the change we are no longer affecting
in each other.

I feel a longing
for the days gone by.
And I think you do too.
There's stability there.
All our lives we've screamed and cried and clamored
for change, but
once we have it,
palpable and in our hands,
we don't know what to do.

"I miss you,"
is what I want to say.
But instead I say,
"I love you," and "Good luck,"
knowing that
not even words
can keep us together.

Your hair grows loner,
as mine gets shorter.
Our faces change.
Our mouths learn new words,
our eyes new faces.
Time does that.

Went to see the pastor,
he invited me for tea,
a general pleasant conversation,
covered all the room,
we chatted for a while,
and then I made smile,
I asked him "Sir, what's for tea",
He grinned real wide,
and said to me,
" sweet lady, we are having a roast",
and then I said to he,
What is the roast to be today?
He smiled back as he replied,
remnants of the lord who'd died,
"what on earth said I"?
So I smiled back and chuckled a bit,
would we, really roast the holy ghost,
he nodded bowing his head,
"Sweet lady, we are having Fred"
"Who on earth is Fred"? I said,
"Well  milady",
"Fred is the chicken, that scratched in the yard,
who made conversation with the bard,
while, scratching for worms"
"More filling than the holy ghost,
chicken ,tastes a whole lot better than most other roasts"
So,
the vicar or pastor, whichever you care, picked up his chopper after brushing his hair,
dashed into the yard to catch hold of Fred,
Fred didn't fancy being dinner,
so he'd already fled.
(C) Livvi

******* dysfunction and ingest my rage
Feel my mind's mosh pit as I dive off the stage
Smell the lingering presence of my pasts rage
See the remnants of what use to be
Hear what I almost said that it was you that I L O V E'd

Glimpses of the light
as the shadows echo into a land of perpetual darkness.

Where blackness is a habitat,
imagination fabricates strobing illusions;
portraying future as the inevitable apprehension
of

impossible

answers.

From within, this truth is known,
and though this light is but a delusion-
it remains a solitary hope.

Lies- the remnants of lives
in this dire day.

Deserving of life...
when it is nothing,
a gift cordially received.

Mornings sigh the remnants of nights spent dreaming
Faint whispers of a restless heart -- intoxicated, yearning
You are moonlight slipping through my fingers
Gone with the dawn but your promise of tomorrow lingers

It's not too long until Guy Fawkes night,
A month and a bit, I believe,
Crunching damp upon the grass,
many autumn leaves,
they're laying underfoot.

It's getting a little chilly now,
The children all have mittens on,
Where on earth's that kitten gone?
kittens should really stay inside.

The bonfire almost a mile high.
A nervous mummy hides inside.
Daddy sets fire to the pile of trash,
hoping that by the morning,
should just be a pile of grubby ash.

Potatoes are all wrapped in tin foil,
you see,
who will take them from the fire?
not me.
A gigantic box of fireworks,
pyrotechnics display.
Wahey!
They should all thrill the sky,
supposed to do them one at at time,
David running round like a lunatic,
had one can too many,
and a couple of glasses of cheapish wine.

Tripped over a stone,
fireworks,
all went off with a boom.
A crash,
a whizz,
a crazy zoom.
A sudden flash,

Blew the roof off,
destroyed the living room,
The kitten hid under the couch,
The dog he dashed into the garden,
with his tail between his legs.
David felt a real wally,
cos he was off his trolley.

Very carefully crept into the living room,
to find the tiny ***** cat,
cowering in the gloom.
The remnants of bonfire night,
not much left of the living room.

Of course,
as this is just a funny poem,.
That little kitten,
well, she was safe and well!
(C) Livvi

What is there to do?
it's so hard to be a passenger
watching us fade away
you're slipping through my fingers
lost to the tenements of duty and time
the choice is made
constant echos catch me off guard
I swear I hear you calling
but when I come
you're  not there
you send your ghost to taunt me
remnants of glistening hopes
swallowed by their smiles
They win again
They always have
I thought I had that one part of you
that tiny piece they never could
but it seems it's halved and quatered
there's not much left
if any at all
you've replaced us, me
and our impossible reality
with some other imposter
the lies you told were so real
I hold imaginary notes in my hand
and cast them to the wind
endless notes
I try to purge you
Every thought an easy betrayal
was it really ever for forever?
in the next life we said
that's too far away
so I write
endless notes
trying to forget you
endless possible futures
Torn away
carved out the deep ones with lies
how do you do it?
Look through me as if I wasn't there?
you'll be back
another note offered to the wind
Ive begun tearing out hopes
to get to the place before I met you,

back to numb

Roadkill brightens my eyes
the impermanence of hibernation
waking restless creatures from the deep recesses of nature
still warming to sunlight and remnants of dripping icicles
weeping for winter's end
–– rain on cloudless days

Sleepy, furry faces spring up from the ground
as dormant undergrowth does the same
peering out into worlds rebirthed

and as they scurry
foraging for the first formations of food
rumbling predatory beasts roll their way down winding interstates
callously crushing any critter crawling across

and I smile
because, no matter the season, death plays its roll rotating life
but now life fights its way back into prominence
greening the trees, painting the buds, reddening the roads