My lips have always craved the taste of danger.
Maybe it is because I don't know what's good for me
or I'm in love with the high I get from it
The high that takes me to the heavens,
surpassing the pillow-like clouds
resting against the azure canvas
I remember the taste so vividly,
I salivate at the thought of it
It's sweet like candy,
the sugary goodness
rushing inside my veins
delicately coating my tongue
bites between my teeth
explode into a thousand little pieces,
dancing inside my mouth
Your succulent lips pressed against mine,
remind me of the taste of summer strawberries,
juicy and tender with citrusy undertones
we're kissing like there's no tomorrow
Oh how I feel your lips part from mine, then touch
and part again the way the clouds greet the sky
Before a rainy afternoon
How can something so bad taste this good?
Oh I'm convinced your kisses are a drug
Nice to play with, but toxic to the mind
Kissing you must be equivalent to intoxication
shockwaves through my body,
the paralyzing euphoria
I don't think I could ever give you up
This addiction is taking control

With every affirmation
My tongue trips over the unspoken  
Unrequited acceptance of current circumstance
My submission is insulting
Unbelieving, you see my lowered eyes as an attack
Belly up
I am confused
Unsure of what movements are appropriate
Frozen, doe-eyed and exhausted from the constant dance
Do I bow
Do I speak
Merely acknowledging my emotions
Sends shockwaves through the tentative peace
I was not built for this
A goddess prostrated
Stripped of her very core
Caged and chained
But it is almost as if my very attempt to accede
Is a declaration of war
What kind of existence is this
Trapped between personage and possession
My only purpose is to please.
Allow me.

My pulse keeps time with the leaky rusted faucet of my bath tub.
Tiny ripples, like cold shockwaves through my body,
wake me

                                from deadly trances.
My streamofthoughts race the fan blades on my ceiling.
Eyes chasing like mice on wheels,
retreating to

                               nowhere fast.
Pebbles thrown, bouncing off well walls like your voice.
Gently it screams, like whispers in silence, “These things take time”.
Never reaching


                                the bottomless black.
Just white noise,


                                a sea foam screen.

Let out my ego and sense of order this comes from beyond this comes from the me between me if I listen I may hear it speaking, it's sleeping but talking and rocking, not still, and perhaps it awakens, perhaps it will open its eye but we mustn't depend on the idea that once he has opened his eye the whole dream of the world will just fade like my dream tomorrow morning which I already know I'll forget, like specific angles and perspectives of specific places in space and time that have slipped away but once in a while break through to consciousness
Like the sliding breakaway walls of Timber Drive elementary school
Or the rippling pond into which I fell and the old smile and laugh of my flesh and blood rescued me and held my body afloat in the air for a moment; and once I was the proud owner of a wind powered hovercraft, another invention spilling out onto the table of attention like the actual pig intestines the popular girl's parents used in her science fair project, the one that dragged on until the last monkey refusing to be locked up with the windows 98s in the archaic computer lab was tranquilized and convulsed on the gym/cafeteria floor in front of the PTA, who'd peed blood all down the front of their sweatpants; he was firing wildly hoping to commit suicide by zookeeper
Not knowing that humanitarian laws would prevent him from achieving his bliss, for the monkey knew as the Gnostics did that to bring a child into this black iron prison is a sin.
Did the Jonestown Kool-aid free them from the prison? Do they now walk among gods within the kingdom of the heavenly spirit? None shall know until the 13 crystal skulls are re-assembled and total gnosis emanates to the people in globe-spanning shockwaves.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park,
this is an ode to you.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park
ambles behind
the kids sprawling out of the entrance
like baby spiders spilling
out of the crushed mother’s abdomen.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
flip-flops his way to the lazy river,
shies his black Harley Davidson tanktop
to reveal his sunburnt
abdomious belly
flopping over his camo swim trunks.

He shakes off his flip-flops
and awkwardly wades in,
his hulking mass shifting with
each foot and tree trunk
of a leg smashing into
the shallow water,
sending shockwaves towards
screaming toddlers
in his wake.

Finding a vacant tube,
he turns his body around
and heaves himself
into the neon green donut
with considerable
and farcical
difficulty.

Mother at the pavilion
opens an eye from the lawn chair
and chuckles to herself,
applying another layer of sunscreen
over ruddy cancer-sensitive skin.

Sporting oblong racecar sunglasses
atop flushed puffy cheeks,
**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
basks in the baking mid-summer sun
and the cool ****-ridden waters
he sinks his hands and feet into.

What is on his mind?
I imagine it is as close
to nothing
as he aims to get,

free from responsibility
like a wiry youth
he knew
from long ago.

The piercing screams of laughter
from ambulant children
splashing about him
are fruitless
in penetrating
his enclave.

He coasts about this way
for an eternity,
his red leather hide
burning in the hot sun
enwreathing his glasses.

Meanwhile,
mother reads
under the cool shade
of the pavilion,

the kids tumble down
slides and splash gleefully,
endlessly,

and life lingers on a moment
for a necessary
sojourn.

**** Middle-Aged Dad
awakens from his sun-cooked daze,
approaches the exit
and prepares himself
for his departure.

Waddling left and right,
he flops starboard
splashing magnificently
like a cannonball rolling off the deck
into the ocean.

His sunglasses leave him in the ruckus,
he gropes blindly
with chlorine-infested eyes,
til he grasps the visage
and stands up in the water.

His great body surges
from the waters,
fading tattoos gleam
along with a bald spot
in the sunlight.

He ambles through the waters—
water spilling out of rolls of fat
undulating in the motion—
and sensuously runs a baseball glove of a hand
through thinning hair.

His trunks bunch up around
firm, beefy buttocks
and a tired old *****,
thick tree trunk thighs,
ending its constriction just above
the wrinkled knot
of kneecaps.

Mother snapshots a photo
of the visage,
his fruits spilling about him
in perpetual glee,
his stolid look of authority,
wisdom, drive,
and endearment.

Years later,
the ambulant youths
on the cusp of adulthood

leaf through old photo albums
suddenly eyeing the Father piously
in a newfound awe,

aware of his gargantuan countenance
that shielded their efflorescence.

He was their sun,
he was their shade,
and their sky—

for he knew
when to plant,
and when to water,
and when to wait.

Running a thumb over
the diaphanous visage
exemplifying
an analog adolescence,

they jeer each other
over the Father,
secretly harboring
an amassing reverence
for the great figure,

the **** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park.

It's strange to feel displaced so quickly.
I thought I'd have more time than this.
More time until
"You have a life and I'm not in it."
Would reverberate through my bones
Like the shockwaves that shoot up your knees when you jump from somewhere high.
It hurts.
It's disorienting.
I can't tell if I am annoying you by missing you,
Because I don't get the chance to hear it clearly in your words.
All of a sudden,
There aren't any
For me.
I want to say "I'm sorry."
And be forgiven like I made a mistake or said something wrong.
But I didn't.
I couldn't have,
Could I?
Just last week you told me a secret nobody else knows,
Shared the intimacy of love and trust
With me.
And now again I don't know where I stand,
Can't see my own feet in the haze.
Am I on solid ground,
Concealed but steady,
Silent but firm?
Or am I on a crumbling cliff face,
One breath from tumbling
With loose stones and tree roots
To tear my skin on the way down?
Am I losing you
Or are you just busy?
Are you cross with me
Or do you just not have the time to be gentle?
I don't want to care.
I don't want to need you.
Because this happens from time to time,
You see?
It happens.
You feel like trying to hold the waves in my hands.
Trying to find purchase with my fingers in the morning mist.
I can never be sure you won't slip away
With no warning and no reason.
And so when for a day you are departed
I grieve,
And fear,
And worry,
And suffer.
And I hate that about myself.
So much that I think you must too.
But maybe I just need to have a reason in my head
That you were here, and warm, and tender
Yesterday
And aren't today.

§
Battle of New Britain

Lieutenant Jim G Paulos led elements
of G Company in a savage counterattack
that ousted the intruders supported
by Lieutenant James R Mallon’s improvised
platoon of H/11, which remained
to help man casualty-depleted line.

Improvise (OED):
One: to compose on spur
of the moment; to utter
or perform extempore

two: to bring about or get up
on the spur of the moment;
to provide for the occasion

Three: […] hence to do anything
On the spur of the moment

Improvised platoon
Df James R Mallon:

When most of your platoon
lies dead in the pumice sands
of the South Pacific-Japanese
bushido bullets tear flesh and spirit
out of the corporeal—husks of limp
limbs you fought to defend and they you
Japanese mortar fire, machine and small-gun fire
fifteen yards in advance of the wire
how do you bring about or get up
the courage to grab whoever—
the nearest marine
talk through ears drums burst by mortar succeeding shockwaves
forget for the time the men
you spent months training
sipping beers in Australia
laughing over bar stool drunken jokes
men you shared your dreams about after
away from the mosquitoes
away from the constant moisture
rain rain rain day and night
soaking through fatigues through skin through bone
never enough sun to dry out
air already saturated
sweat or seawater—it is all the same
now you must find new men—men you have seen,
but do not know the same as your own platoon
their life and yours in each others hands
alone in a group of stranger-brothers
always faithful
keep composure in the face
your buddy’s entrails pouring into the pumice sand
hence to do anything
on the spur kicked into your side
to block what no man should ever be asked to see
and do what you can in the moment
to save your division from enemy fire.

§
Cyclops Black Eyes

One summer e’ening drunk to hell
He stood there nearly lifeless
A gal sat in the corner
And it’s how are ye ma’am and what’s yer name
And would ye like a drink?
She looked at him, he at her
All she could do was accept one

And rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ she’ll go
Through his pair of blue eyes

She knew not the pumice beaches and streams
Sometimes walking sometime crawling
amongst blood and death ‘neath a screaming sky
Where Cyclops black eyes waited for him
Was it birds whistling in the trees?
Always the Cyclops black eyes waiting for them
So they give the wind a talkin’

And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ he’ll go
Away from those Cyclops black eyes

And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
All he could see were Cyclops black eyes looking at him

No Cyclops black eyes waiting for her
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ she’ll go
And never know what saw his pair of blue eyes

Could she forsee in that pair of blue eyes
Decades he’d spend drunk to hell?
Sometimes walking sometime crawling
Rovin’ and rovin’ away from those Cyclops black eyes

§
Colt 1911**

I was nineteen when I learned
my Dad his father’s Colt 1911 pistol

when Dad was young he
and his brother found
the gun—hidden in the rafters
of the cinderblock basement
their father built; magazine bullets and pistol
on one rafter—separate, except
the bullets lived in the magazine

my dad and uncle, like any
young boy, were fascinated
by the pistol; though too young
to feel and know the power
and danger in the cold blue metal

when their father and mother were
away—home alone they snuck
to the hand-laid basement
reached around the rafters
through years of dust and darkness
feeling for the colt and mag
scrape-click-pop—ca-chick
round in the chamber—“freeze!”

so played boyhood fantasies
cowboys & Indians
cops & robbers
with a lethal toy


so my dad kept it a secret
locked in a tarnished steel box
locked through the trigger guard
magazine separate
four silver, dimpled, bullets rolled round between
their queue and releaser

I was struck by the weight—heavier than I expected—I felt the years of use polished into the wood grips—thick hand grease sweat blood humidity sand saltwater gun oil mud tears life saved and taken.
At the bottom of the wood grips ticked notches deep in the grain—both sides—different numbers; “What are these?” I asked running my finger across the nocth-ticks feeling their depths their absence consciously carved with his next best tool—kabar: workhorse that can baton through five inch diameter logs, machete through two-finger branches, dig a hole to burrow while machinegun fire mows down jungle; easy to sharpen, keeps an edge; full tang to hammer temples or tent posts

“I don’t know; the only thing we have is the lore.”

fI counted seven
the number the magazine carries
eight total, if you have one in the chamber

You have to commit to fire
a 1911, the cliché: don’t pull
the trigger—squeeze
is how the 1911 fires—a button
fits the crotch of the thumb and index finger
opposite the trigger on the handle;
to unleash the hammer then
lead, squeeze the two—firm
tight at the target; no shot fired
by accident—no Marvins with the 1911.

He is known as The Leader of Men.
His combat skills and his undisputed valor are unparalleled.
The cryptic tattoos of his body are the gospel of neighboring regions.
The utter of his name sends shockwaves of fear and trepidation across the land.
Biding idle time by sharpening his spears, swords, daggers.
Gutting, severing, and beheading those opposing his path and will.
The elders say he is the son of Achilles.
Yet at the twilight of every night of battle,
He lies at his bedside.
Alone.
He never talks, he never sleeps.
Just gazes upon the blood spilled upon his hands.
He weeps.

Disaster can be enticing.
I want to be the four winds that blow
persistently - until the storm arrives.

A storm that alters the balance.
The shockwaves reverberating against the fabric of reality
impact - where I once stood.

If I were the winds.
What would there be left in my wake
destruction - before the silence.

I met you in the sixth grade. I do not remember the first words we spoke, or if you asked my name or vice versa. I do, however, recall us being paired together for every science project. I don't have to close my eyes to remember the pre-summer heat beating down on my skin (which was pale in comparison to your natural tan) as we laid rulers along the pavement outside the school to measure how far our "car" could go. I remember smiling. I remember laughing. I couldn't tell you if it was a joke you made or something the teacher said, but I remember being happy.

Seventh grade came and went. We did not speak. I missed you a little, but not too much. I was only 13 and had never loved you.

I walked into my second bell on the first day of eighth grade and saw you sitting in the second seat in the second row (**** me for remembering little things like that). You smiled and said hi and I smiled and said hi and that was it. We never talked much in that class, in all honesty; your best friend sat behind you, as did mine behind me, and we really only asked each other for help on homework questions. But I didn't mind. I didn't have anything to miss. I had never really loved you.

Fast forward to February (still a timid little eighth grader). My best friend that sat behind me so many months ago had a boyfriend and I was lonely. I do not know what prompted me to do this, or where the courage came from, but one day, I decided I wanted to talk to you again. I texted five different people to get your number (desperation? Never), and before I knew it I had sent a message saying that I "hoped you remembered me and that I hadn't talked to you in a while and how had you been?" An immediate response sent shockwaves through my body :" hey :) I've been good." And for the first time since the fall of that year, I began to feel happy again.

It was now April and we were at the local amusement park with friends. My best friend, feeling clever, decided to start a "hand holding chain" in an attempt to get me to hold yours. It worked. I had never held a boy's hand before. Yours was bigger than mine, and warm, and I had to physically stop myself from smiling. But I was also terrified, because in that moment, I realized how much I liked you, and how much I never wanted you to let go of my hand.

May 15, 2010: I remember the conversation perfectly.
You: so who do you like?
Me: I'll tell if you tell
You: I asked you first
Me: I asked you second
You: doesn't count.
(here comes a supernova of bravery)
Me: alright. I hope this doesn't make things awkward, but...I guess I kinda like you (:
(an intense wave of fear and relief crash over me)
You:  :)
And that was the day I began to feel loved.

May 19, 2010: We are at the park by our school (with friends, of course). My friends are telling me to kiss you. I can't do that. I'm much too terrified. You look at me from across the playground and smile. I think I love you but I'm not sure because I'm only fourteen. My best-friend-who-has-a-boyfriend  walks me to the top of the hill we had gone sledding on over the winter - and pushes me down it. Not hard enough to fall, but enough to send me half-jogging-nearly-tripping all the way down to the bottom. And you, being the superhero that you were, chased after me. I began to make my ascent back up the hill, but you grabbed my hand. You said that we should take a walk through the woods instead. My palms become incredibly sweaty and my heart stops but I say okay and we begin to walk. You know all of the paths because you run cross country and you go through these woods all the time every fall. I know none of these paths and I am very scared. You tell me you have a surprise for me and you lead me to a path that ends at a shelter. I walk underneath it and see initials etched into the wood. I'm reading the ones above me when, suddenly, your arms are around my waist. I jump. "What's wrong?" you ask. I don't know. I don't know why that scared me. I say "nothing," but I'm shaking - visibly. You look worried and step away. I want to cry. I turn around to apologize and perhaps try to explain, but your face is so close to mine and I'm thinking you might kiss me and even though I really want to kiss you, I walk away. You follow. We say nothing. Then it starts to rain. We're by a creek now. There's a wooden board right next to our feet (I **** you not). You pick it up and lay it so I can use it as a bridge as we cross over to the other side. You're still holding my hand. I'm still shaking. We're in a clearing now. I think we're close to that hill. I begin to walk but, once again, you grab my hand. I do not turn around this time. I am frozen in fear. I can feel your breath on my neck as you whisper in my ear, "I don't know how to do this very well, but..." and your hand cups the side of my face and I begin to turn around and suddenly I'm panicking and shaking and I run - literally run - away from you. And I have never hated myself more. I should have been happy, but I wasn't.

A few weeks later, we are standing on a bridge. You're behind me. You put your arms around me. I am wearing your beaded necklace from Hawaii ("it's not a necklace," you'd say, "because necklaces are for girls). I do not flinch. I am happy. Something about you put me at ease after I became more aware of your presence and your scent and the way your hand fit in mine. And I was happy.

Four years later, I don't have to close my eyes to remember the text I sent you after I fell in love with you. I told you that I had heard a rumor that you liked someone else and I didn't want to date you anymore (I had never believed the rumor). I was afraid of finally being close to someone, and probably other things, and I sent you away. I'm typing this incredibly long recollection and I'm realizing there are so many more little stories I could tell about us, and how even though I was only fourteen I do believe I loved you, because you were the first person I was able to give my love to. I hope your girlfriend now appreciates you, because I know I do even though you're gone. I never got to kiss you, but I still loved you more than I love hot cocoa after catching snowflakes on my tongue, and that should say more than all of these words ever will.

Others promised
to fill your eyes
with stars. Only stars.
But I will populate
your mind with galaxies,
complete the space
with swirling clouds
of asteroids and
black holes to swallow
your sadness. After all,
stars are obviously bright
and beautiful, but alone.
I will help to discover
somewhere within yourself
the need to create
constellations of us,
where our myths
and morals intertwine.
You and I and our
moments, syzygy.
Gravity only exists,
so we can fall together
but still weightless
to see that our mass
doesn’t affect our matter.
How stars collapse
under their own weight,
fading out, is so unlike
the way we expand
amongst the cosmos,
heavenly bodies of ours
joining the rest in the halo,
interstellar where I will
cascade over you, a pulsar
radiating waves of energy.
These shockwaves form
a singularity of us,
with no time or direction
but we know what we are;
a meteor shower for those
still simply Earth bound.
Gazing into the sun, they
promised stars, blinded.
Blinding, our explosion
of formation from nothing.
Let there be planets
where beings flourish
and evolve, and I will
gift you their moons,
the craters filled with
dust of my words hidden
where no winds can
ever disturb them.
They promised you
stars, so you can become
a satellite and orbit
and worship their light.
I will give myself,
a supernova, and you
will learn to craft galaxies
so I can explore them
within you, and revel at
the beauty of the unknown.
Our universe won’t fit
in their telescopes.


**V. K.

These rhymes ... Reflect ...
APOCALYPTIC Times ... !!!

Times where minds ...
are ............... Dismissing .................................................. Signs ...... !!!!!

That times ahead .....
Will see ... BLOODSHED ...
and ... Loss of Life ... !!!!! ...

Times where ... Crimes ...
Refine ... Bloodlines ... !!!!!!

Like ... " Old Designs " ...
Primed to ... " ***-id-e " ...

Apocalyptic ... times ...
Reside inside ...
Deep Seas with ... " Tides " ...
Now On ... The rISE ...
Just like ... The Minds ...
of ... WICKED ... Types ... !!!!!!
whose Pride ... DENIES ...
to help the ... " Plight " ...
of those who ... STRIVE ...
Just to ... " Survive " ...
and Live a ... " Good Life " ...

The Type ... who like ...
to see us ... Fight ...
Like ... " Dogs in Bogs " ...
Fed On ... WAR Songs ...
and Words of ... HATE ... !?!

A Time and Place ...
where ... Technological Tools ...
are used to ... School ...
our youth to ... Abuse ...
Like ... VIOLENT Fools ... !!!!!

VIOLENCE ... Will Rule ... !!!

Like DEVILS ... Who ...
Infuse with ... Views ...
That ... Lead to ... FEUDS ... !!!

Which would ... You Choose ... ?!?

APOCALYPTIC ... News ... ?
or a place where ... " Love " ...

REIGNED ... Up Above ... !!!!!!

Just like ... SUNSHINE ...
in the ... " Summertime " ...

Well ....
Rhymes Like ... " These " ...
Paint ... Different ... scenes ...

Scenes ... OBSCENE ... !!!!!
and ....... Far From .................................................................­..... Clean ... !!!!

Where ....
Peoples' Dreams ...
are ... "FILLED WITH" ... SCREAMS ... !!!

Am I .... SCARING You ... ?!?

If so ... Not Cool ... !!!

Why would you choose ... ?
to take ... The View ...
That ... What I Say ...
Makes You ... AFRAID ... ?!?!?

Apocalyptic Trips ...
May Well .... ECLIPSE ... !!!

The Place in which ...

Your Thinking ..... " Lives " ......

OUTSIDE ... "TheBox" ...
is where ... Mine Is ... !!!!!!

NOT IN .... " Laptops " ....
or .... VIOLENT ... Stings ... !!!

I Deal with ... NOW ...
and what ... Surrounds ...
Before i'm ... CLOWNED ...
and end up ... "Drowned" ... !!!!!

Or ...
Worse yet ... DEAD ...
Like ... Youthful Heads ...
As ... " Current Trends " ...
would now ... " Suggest " ...

In Fact .... CONFIRM .... !!!!!!

Does it make you ...
........ " Squirm ........ ? "
to Read ... Such words ... !?! ...

Well .......

Here's a ... " Verse " ...
to ... CALM ... Your Nerves ... !!!

They're ONLY ... " Words " ... !!!!!!

That show ... CONCERN ...
About the world ...
and how ... it turns ...

If we ... " Observe " ...
We may just ... " Learn " ...
How to ... STEM This ... SURGE ... !!!
of Pain and ... Hurt ... !!!!!!

and make a ... RETURN ...
to Life being ... PRESERVED ... !!!!!

Let The DEVILS ... Burn .......................................................

and Make ... PEACE WORK ... !!!!!

Like ... UNITY ...
cos' things like ... " These " ...
Will Help ... " Relieve " .................................

Our Streets of ... BEASTS ... !!!
And .... " POVERTY " ....

And .... News Stories ...
of ... KILLING Sprees ... !!!?!!!

Our Youth ... are DYING ...

Don't You ... SEE ... ?!!!? ...

These words are ... TRYING ...
to FEED ... Our Seeds ...
with ... Something MORE ...
Than ....... " MTV " ........ !!!!!!!!!!

BUT ....
Here's The ... SCORE ... !!!

Too Many ... " Elders " ... TOO ... !?!
are PROMOTING .... Wars ......
WITHOUT .... A Cause .... !!!?!!!

and NEED TO ... " Reduce " ...
Their ... ANGRY ... Moods ... !!!

" Don't try to front ! "

" You know it's true ! "

Why take the view
that I'm ... TOO BLUNT ... ?!?

The time has ... COME ...
to .... " Listen Up " ......
and Fill .... " Eardrums " ...
Like Kweli' ... Does ... !!!

with words that ... " Soothe " .........................
and HELP ... " Improve " ...
The Minds who ... " Choose " ...

APOCALYPTIC ... Moves ... !!!!!

Like ...
Dropping .... BOMBS ...
That Breed ... " Phantoms " ...
and .... " Tsunamis " .... !!! ....

Do you ....
Get The .... " Scene " .... ???

NO TREES ....
NO LEAVES ....

NO ...
Ice Caps left ....

Just .... WAR and DEATH ... !!!!!

I Guess .... ?
to ... " Most of You " ...

This seems ............................................................. " Far Fetched " ......

But ...
THINK IT .... Through ......

What's coming .... " Next " .... ?!?

FLOODING ... Here ...
and Flooding ... THERE ... !!!!

and then .... HEATWAVES .... !!!
that send ... SHOCKWAVES ... !!!

As Fires ... BLAZE ...
For .... DAYS and DAYS .... !!!!!

APOCALYPTIC .... Yes ... !!!

So ....
What do you say ... ?

Does THIS Poem ...
and it's ... Wordplay ...
Make ...  You Think ...

I NEED A ... " Shrink " ... ?!?

Maybe ... I DO ... ???

But here's the ... " Koo' " ...

Apocalyptic things ....
ARE ...... Happening ...... !!!!!

CLOSER ... to home ...
and that's ... NO JOKE ... !!!!!

Most folk ... are BROKE ... !!!
Or ... SNORTING ... Coc' ... !!!

With ....
NOWHERE ... to go ...
to find some ... " Hope " ... !!!

" OH I'M A PESSIMIST ! "

" If You Insist ! "

I'm simply ...

writing things ...
Through ... " Poetic Scripts " ...

That ... Reflect how ...

I Feel ...
Right NOW ...

Some Music ... " FILLED " ........
My Mind with .... THIS ....

Thoughts of ... GLOOM ...
and MUCH ... "Darkness" ... !!!!!

A ... " Discreet Flava " ...
DARKER THAN ... " Vader " ... !!!

Try to .... DENY ...
and you ... " May Find " ...

That ....
What You ... FIGHT ...
Inside ... " Your Mind " ...

is the ....

TRUTH About .........
What's ..... Coming .....

" Apocalyptic Times "

Exuding supernova suns
Through sensory explosions
Otherworldly forms of fun
When the Mother Earth has chosen
Pheonix forces I become
As I'm making moves like Gambit
Checking Bishop's loaded gun

For I am gods and I am mortals
I am everything and nothing
I am trans-dimension portals
Into realms of onto something
More than human paranormals
By detaching from possessions
To an equinox of vernals

I am blissful blossoms blooming
Unabashful beaming brilliance
Blithe brain blasts of bold babooning
Big Bang bomb bursts blowin' billions
Burning bourgeoisies by booming  
Bolshevism boiling blood's
Broke-bank Bane of bat-cave brooding

Jedi masterful mind trips
Skywalkin' Bespin nonchalant
'Cuz no force-choking Vader grips
Can bring me down to Coruscant
And no Death Star apocalypse
Can stop the peace I'm keepin' in
My rogue one rebel leader-ships  

Fearless with my laser sword
And selfless Star Trek Enterprise
To defeat the Klingon horde
The ego of Galactus dies
Upon my Silver Surfer board
Still Samwise to my Frodo quest
To sonicdoom the Mordor Lord

✿

a bit of

in her hair I figured
all along the strands down to her bangs
I lingered along the lashes
became a vision
leaked down a cheek fell onto
her silky neck
became a molecule came into her
blood flowed down her heart
pumped me into her toes as they curled
traveled vascular
up her spine-tingling and came
smiling out the corner of her mouth
a wet spot
next to the corner of her smile
soft silky moist glistens
a mist on her breath
a bit of touch on the pillow
a dream on the next day's memory
a dream for forever

every touch a slow-moving pulse
sending shockwaves
through every point of touch
awaking every part of me
with his soft touch
his warm lips
our bodies move gracefully
insight
his brown eyes
lingering deep
touching the core of my soul
the warmth of his kisses
his fingers floating
like a paintbrush
leaving a burning trail
of ecstasy
and brilliant colored hues
each stroke caressing
each caress leaving
a beautiful new color of love
filling me with all of him
his heart
his soul
his being
all of his colors filling me
with his love

✿

Born with flesh and blood, but heart sold separately. Bird way up high, falling from the sky. The raining aftermath is the common denominator. When it shockwaves from ground zero, it leaves an atomic shadow—fatal impressions where a living, breathing thing once stood...

A NEW DAY ARRIVES ON THE BLUE SEA,
THE LIGHT TOUCHING THE SAPPHIRE WATER.
THEN, WITH THE RUSH OF WAVES
BREAKING UPON ON THEIR METAL HULLS,
FOUR SHIPS OF GREY-PAINTED IRON & STEEL
CUT THROUGH THE WATER OF GLASS.

THE FIRST IS A NOBLE AND MAGNIFICENT WARSHIP,
A GREAT MONSTER OF IRON, FURY, AND GLORY,
A BATTLESHIP THAT WILL SPARK YOUNG BOYS IMAGINATION WITH COMPLETE FIREPOWER, KNOWN AS THE “GUN CLUB”.

FOLLOWING BEHIND IS AN CARRIER
WITH MANY WARPLANES THROTTLING
FOR LAUNCH, ANXIOUS FOR COMBAT.

NEXT IS A DESTROYER, ITS CREW
TRYING ITS BEST TO RESTRAIN ITSELF
AND STAY WITH ITS BROTHERS IN ARMS.

LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, IS A CRUISER,
A MERE SMALLER REPLICA OF THE
BATTLESHIP, BUT NOT BE UNDERESTIMATED.

BELOW THESE SURFACE BEHEMOTHS IS A
SILENT STALKER OF THE DARK ABYSS,
A FAST SUBMARINE, MASTER OF THE ART OF ATTACK.
WITH A SIGNAL PASSED BETWEEN THE
WARSHIPS, THE FLEET GOES ITS SEPARATE WAYS
AND PREPARES TO FIGHT A MORNING WAR;
A STORM OF UNPRESCIDENT CHAOS AND DEATH.

AS THE SUN BEGINS TO TOUCH CLOUDS,
A ROAR OF ENGINES ECHOES ACROSS
THE BRIGHTING SKY,
IN TURN JOINED BY THE CACOPHONY
OF MACHINE GUNS FIRING THOUSANDS
INTO SQUADRONS OF ENEMY JETS.

FRIENDLY AIRCRAFT BLAST IN THE AIR
FROM THE DECK OF THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER,
EAGER FOR EPIC DOGFIGHTS AS ONBOARD
SYSTEMS LOCK ONTO ENEMIES.

FROM THE DESTROYER ERUPT STREAKS
OF ANTI-AIRCRAFT MISSILES FROM
HIDDEN SILOS BELOW ITS DECKS.

SUDDENLY, A EXPLOSION ECHOES ACROSS THE OCEAN,
A SECOND LATER, GEYSERS OF WATER
ERUPT INTO THE AIR AMONG THE FLEET.

RADAR AND SPOTTERS CONFIRM THE
ENEMY ON THE HORIZON, JUST OUT OF MISSILE RANGE.

ON THE COMMAND OF THE ADMIRAL,
THE CRUISER JOINS THE SUBMARINE
AND LAUNCHES TORPEDOES
FROM THEIR DECKS AND TUBES.

WHITE COLUMNS OF WATER AND
STEEL ERUPT LIKE TOWERS AS
TORPEDOES HIT THEIR MARK.

BUT A SOUNDS LIKE SRIENS SCREAMING
ALL THEIR MIGHT ECHOES ACROSS
THE BATTLEFIELD AND LOOKOUTS POINT
OUT TWO ARCHING PILLARS OF FLAME
CURVE DOWN TOWARDS THEIR TARGET.

DOOMED TO ONLY WATCH, CREW
MEMBERS FIRE BULLETS TO STOP THE
MISSILES FROM THE SUB.

BUT THE EXPLOSIONS THAT FOLLOW AND
THE SHOCKWAVES THAT CAUSE GROWN
MEN TO BE SLAMMED AGAINST BULKHEADS
CONFIRM IT; ALL HANDS LOST.

THE CRUISER, NOW FAR FROM FRIENDLY
SUPPORT, WAGES A WAR OF IT OWNS AS
IT BECOMES SURROUNDED BY THE ENEMY.

BUT AFTER MISSILE, SHELL, AND TORPEDO,
THE OCEAN CLAIMS HER QUARRY WITH
WAVES OF RAGING BLUE FLOODING THE DECKS.

THE DESTROYER, FURIOUS OF THE
LOSS OF HER BROTHERS IN ARMS,
EXPELLS ALL OF HER WEAPONS IN HOPES
OF HITTING AT LEAST ONE OF THE ENEMY.

IN LUCK, THE FOE'S SUBAMRINE AND DESTROYER
BURN OIL AS THEY SINK, BUT FOR A PRICE:
THE DESTROYER BEGINS ITS SLUMBER
TOWARDS THE DARK ABYSS.

ALL SHIPS REMAINING ARE THE
CARRIERS AND THE MIGHTY DREADNOUGHTS
KNOWN AS BATTLESHIPS.

THE CARRIERS CONTINUE THEIR AREIAL DUALS,
LAUNCHING AIRCRAFT BARELY CAPABLE
OF FLIGHT OR FIGHT.

THEN, WITH THE SOUND OF DRAGONS,
THE BATTLESHIPS BEGIN THE FINAL PHASE
OF THE OCEAN BATTLE.

CLOUDS OF FIRE, SMOKE, AND STEEL ARE
BELCHED WITH ANGER INTO THE AIR
AS BOTH SHIPS FIGHT AROUND THE
STILL-BURNING HULLS.

SURVIVORS, DESPERATELY HOLDING ONTO
SCRAP TO STAY AFLOAT, CHEER THEIR FELLOW
BATTLESHIPS ON AS THE GREAT IRON GIANTS
DUKE IT OUT FOR THE HONOR OF THEIR NATION.

FINALLY, THE “GUN CLUB” BATTLESHIP,
EXACTLY AS SOON AS THE GREAT ORB
OF THE SUN BEGINS TO SINK, DESTROYED
THE ENEMY WITH ALL SIXTEEN INCH GUNS
LAND SHELL AFTER SHELL INTO THE ARMOR.


INTERNAL FIRES FINALLY CAUSE THE
STEEL BEHEMOTH TO SINK FOR ITS
CHANCE AT GLORY, VANQUISHED.

“HIT!! YOU SANK MY BATTLESHIP!”
I RAISE MY ARMS IN VICTORY AS MY
FRIEND AND MYSELF PLACE THE
FINAL PIN INTO THE FINAL RESTING
PLACE OF THE MISSING BATTLESHIP.
THUS MARKS THE END OF A BATTLESHIP GAME,
BUT IMAGINATION DRIVES THE BATTLE ON.

I’ve known battles between my heart and my head before, but never like this.

Pain is familiar to me. Sadness is common company, hurt is safe. Misery follows me, aches linger. I’m used to fighting for my happiness, to finding a glimmer of it and holding on as tightly as I can. I choose to keep a smile on my face as much as possible, I choose to be cheerful and optimistic, but that doesn’t mean that choice is easy. That doesn’t mean I don’t relapse. I struggle every day of my life just to wake up, and I do it somehow, I fight the hardest battle over and over again and it’s only small victories in a big war.

I’m in a long distance relationship, and to anyone who has ever experienced this, you know what it means: pain. Constant and aching. The longing never leaves you, the need never stops. I’ve settled into this pain like a warm blanket, it surrounds my every moment. I’ve sunk into its salt like the sea. I know this pain well. So well, that when it came time to leave it, I was afraid. I was afraid to see her and have it replaced by a joy so profound it filled my whole being. I was so nervous to let it go for those few days, because when it came back, I both knew what to expect and also wondered how it would change. The first two times I left her, it slammed back into me like a hammer and sent shockwaves through my heart. I cried for days. I couldn’t stop. It’s return was so much worse than it’s familiarity. It was new again.

This time, it didn’t ram into me… it just slowly pressed against me. I remember dreading this moment, remembering it’s return before and how it freshly awful it was. I braced myself for the worst, tensing against the inevitable plunge. Instead… I sunk back into it. Slowly, comfortably. I cried a few times, when it went a little too fast. But it mostly kept a steady pace, and I remained braced even after I had already reached the bottom. The pain will come, I thought. It hasn’t happened yet. But what I hadn’t noticed, until now, is that it happened so gradually that I had returned to a state I knew so well, it didn’t alarm me. That’s why I felt like I was almost in denial. It didn’t feel like it actually happened yet. Because when you pull your favorite blanket over you, you don’t stop to think about if it feels different, you just settle underneath and get warm.

Here’s what I know: I know my school, I know it’s campus and classrooms. I know my dorm, its small space and cozy lighting and comfortable bed and much loved quiet. I know my friends, their love and presence. I know my home, my parents that come to see me and bring me back to my childhood home every now and then. I know going down the hall to cook and hooking my computer up to the TV in the lounge, I know clubs, I know the cafes and sidewalks, I know the lake and the library, I know the shuttle and stores I browse alone. I know text messages and phone calls and letters. I know laying awake in the dark and trying to breathe out the loneliness. I know plans and anticipation. I know tears and a pounding heart and “I miss you”s.

Here’s what I also know. I know an apartment with carpets and lights that flicker off. I know city streets and coffee shops on corners. I know metro stops and green parks, I know lights and signs. I know a girl with brown eyes and a beautiful smile. I know holding hands and warm kisses, I know “I love you”s and “goodnight”s. I know a happiness so immense from the simplest of things. I know mornings without pain and falling to sleep with slow breaths. I know of goodbyes that only last a few hours, I know laughter so loud I bite my lip. I know soft skin and small hands, I know closeness and feeling. I know sweet words and parted lips, I know palms and “you’re beautiful.” I know arms around waists, I know shoulders touching, I know staring eyes. I know dates and rituals, I know browsing with a hand in mine, I know ideas and brightness. I know a life with her.

Here’s what I don’t know if I go: I don’t know what will change with more than a few weeks together. I don’t know if we’ll have our first fight, I don’t know if I’ll make things as better as you want them to be. I don’t know if you’ll see me unable to wake up one day. I don’t know if you’ll see me moody or annoyed. I don’t know if I’ll get a job and how well I’ll handle it if I do. I don’t know what will change when I have to leave again.

Here’s what I don’t know if I stay: I don’t know if you’ll be okay. That’s all, because everything else is familiar.

But it’s enough. There’s a girl out there who says her life is better when I’m holding her hand, so how can I stay here knowing that? **** practicality and responsibility, and most of all, **** distance. I used to think the only thing that would make me happy were big dreams and great accomplishments, but I’ve found that a small apartment and a girl to love does more than either of those could hope to do.

I’m scared. I’m scared of leaving familiarity and safety and taking a risk. I’m scared of change. I’m scared of what I don’t know. But I think, for once, I should let my heart decide. We all want to believe we have all the time in the world, but what if we don’t? Would I regret not doing this later?

I have to let go of pain to do this. I have to let go of an ache that has become central to my being. I have to embrace happiness and let it happen to me, and stay with me. Can I do that?

I think the answer is simple, and I should have remembered this from the beginning: for her, I can do anything.

A grand gateway, reaches
Towards heaven, burrowing
Into hell itself, resides in ridicule
To an immortal being, in mortal flesh

Nightmares are cocktails for truth
Incantations to shatter bones into keys
Padlocked manipulation and deceit
Failed attempts echo in magnitudes

Both sinister ploys and moments of joy
Ripple into cracks, teasing of another side
A truth for the ancients, beings without moral
Fathomless worlds of nuetrality and power

If ever for a moment, and not a moment more
These shockwaves of the mind come shattering
Blowing down this door, screaming rage and ruin
Then I will be free, of the chains which bind me.

“In sickness and in health
till death do us part”

She exploded in my heart
threw me off my feet

Across a living room filled
with nights only she can host

I spoke of her to those across the world
who will never experience what it is
to fall for a city
it is beyond patriotism
this ineffable love for a sleepless phenomenon
who homes strangers
shook the world
with shockwaves
that equaled the chemical imbalance
its people have for their city

Under the debris of sparkling glass
she was broken  
there’s so much she can withstand
even when we always stand by her side
shards engrave themselves under thick skin
poking at the body that still believes in love at first breath

At a heart that does not know how to stop
At a will-power that questions its creator about its strength
At a body that homes an identity beyond this world
alien to it

toxicity hovered in lungs

And across skies
blushing clouds
turning them pink

Sunset wasn’t serene

The ocean cradled bodies

on their way to the afterlife

They cried salty tears


Fed up.

Her soil has felt the stomping anger of grieving mothers, fathers, husbands
families
the last words of suffocating victims who never lost hope till

The angels opened the doors of the sky

To welcome new brave souls into the heavens
to lead by example
their white coffins
wed the earth with the skies
they watch over us

Brooms brushed her face
Hands held others
Homes homed
Revolutionists revolted
Nooses were hung
judgment day is knocking
at our hearts
and mind you, we are known
for our hospitality

She cannot cry

She never did

It never suited her

But she sure knows how to roar
how to devour
parasites feeding at her immortality

I wear your ring around my finger

“In sickness and in health
till nothing does us part”

Meeting you was like an assassination
The moment you spoke
I felt the recoil
Point blank shot between the eyes
In one instant I was alone
Plenty sufficient at self-mutilation
I was content
To wander alone in my own thoughts
My personality cold
Chilled by the ice of the desolation
Of unreleased sorrow

One minute I am still
Content
Meandering hopelessly in my world
Then there was you
Your first word was a slug
Dressed in copper it sank in
Sending shockwaves through the gray matter
I took the hit
My skull accepting the whiplash and allowing me
Some semblance of strength to move

I had no chance to heal before I was hit again
Your touch was electric
A million volts multiplied by the fluid
That is your glowing stare
The sound of my name on your tongue
Becomes a garrote
Taking my breath from my lungs
I can’t speak in your presence

All that I was because to die away
The lonely man who sought shelter
In the desert of loneliness
Blown away
Bleeding out in the back of my mind
All who I thought I was
Gone
In the blink of a muzzle flash


Meeting you was like an assassination
The man I was
Destroyed
Some other man sauntered off that day
Someone I don’t know yet
But am striving to figure out

Skin
Still sensing
Still sore
                                     From scratches
Still sensitive

To sound
Like shockwaves                                  E    D   N
                                                          S    N    I     G

Repeated
Repeated

******* ******* ******* *******

Sensations of

V I B R A T I O N
H Y D R A T I O N

                                    Tongue torn
                                          Sore
From tickling licking
                                          Skin with sharp
                                                                           E
                                                                           D
                                                                           G
                                                                           E
                                                                           D stubbles
Sore *******
        ******* sore from
                                      Hardening
                              From bites
                      And from
                                       Fingertips fondling

And sore muscles
Aching from f
                         l
                            e
                               x
                            i
                        n
                    g
     Arching

                     Repeated contraction contraction
                                                                                      X
CONTROL                                                            A
                                                                        M
                                                                  I
                                                         L
                                     of      C

Fire

Sore sensitive
Succulents
Sore from oscillation
                                    Provocation
Still soaked
In saps
             D  R
                     I
                     P
                     P
                     I
                     N
                     G
                             Devilish desire

The mind's eye
Sore
From mimicking
                                Mo ve ments
Imprinted
                  In memory
                                       Driving me

MAD

I want more...

I never had much of an ability to be anything except an emotional disaster. I didn’t spend a lot of time outside of my head, and when I did it was usually to dive headfirst into the head of someone else. I spent the vast majority of my daily life in a broken-down shell of myself masquerading as someone that had their **** together. For some reason, people accepted the facade. That’s what they usually ended up liking.
    I always regarded myself as a disease. I had an incubation period that was relative to how long it took someone to get me to trust them. After that, the cells of my disease would rapidly multiply and explode, permeating the membranes of all of their senses and rationalities. My disease would break through the double-helix of their DNA and integrate itself in the fragile bridges of their nitrogenous bases, reflecting adenine for their thymine, cytosine for their guanine until finally the helix reunited, delicately interconnecting the chromosomes as I spilled out all the worst sides of myself.
    The infectious agents of my toxicity would then slowly descend the ladders of hydrogen bridges and filter back out through the phospholipid bilayer to swim freely into their bloodstream, swimming through their veins to seek out the nervous system. Freely hopping along synapses, my disease gently touches neurons and triggers proteins buried deep inside their nuclei, causing the slow degradation and eventual apoptosis, killing off the ability to recognize that I am not a normal person.
    The electrical impulses spread from axon to axon, igniting a ridiculous idea that I am no disease. The toxins follow the impulses, riding along the shockwaves. The toxins arrive in the mind and slide off the branches of electricity to hold fast to brain proteins, forcing them to take on the shape of the toxins and eroding holes in all the neural processing centers that govern reason and logic, robbing the person of the ability to detect all the red flags I wave frantically in front of their faces.
    The toxins slide into the erosions and stand upon the corpus callosum, the delicate connection between the cerebral hemispheres, and wonder at the magnitude of the destruction they cause. They take a running start and leap from hemisphere to hemisphere and back again, skipping between the associative areas and primary cortices so the immune system cannot ever catch them.
They settle in the prefrontal cortex, the seat of neural power, the orchestra of complex thought. The toxins settle deep into the gyri and sulci, wedge themselves into the folds of all the grey matter.
Once infection is over, once I have eroded the very cytoskeletons that hold their cells together, they breathe, “I love you.”

Put all your ideas in a trash bag
burn it
Discern the meaning by the
plastic smoke
Broke, fundamentally broken
somewhere inside
Only garbage floats up to the surface
of my soul
I don't feel whole anymore, cookie cutter flesh wound
Trapped in the monsoons of psychoactive hysteria
Scary fun, the type where you wipe out brain cells
Your goodness rebels against the current you
Chopped and ******* feel bulletproof in cotton teeshirts
Ketchup squirts out on some fries
The current world relies on machines of loving grace
Finding my place, tattooed lost space case singing sad songs
My heart longs to simply be touched
it sends shockwaves

Rebellion has many paths
to tempt unwitting youth
and none of them are new at all
to tell the sorry truth
Though every would-be anarchist
would wish it left unsaid
John Harrow makes the signposts
with a top-hat on his head

When picketing the fellowship
a friend of mine declared
"You have to know your enemy
"To have him running scared!"
dismantling the sacred text
he'd bought the day before
for every penny that he owned
from Harrow's Bible store

The scarlet headed lyricist
sent shockwaves through the nation
shattering taboos
and knocking lumps from the foundation
But Harrow wasn't shaken
by this fiercely blazing star -
he'd trained the stylist, named the songs
and sold him his guitar

A buzz is running through the streets
as people take them back
and occupy the land
in global pacifist attack
But wait - before you celebrate
the fall of governments
With factories in Vietnam
John Harrow makes the tents

Cos protest has its limits
the establishment agrees
we're free to go these tested routes
like window-bumping bees
You make your point, you go back home
another day will pass
and half-full or half-empty
Mr. Harrow is the glass

Cedric McClester

It’s just a cogent observation
We never was a civilized nation
So what’s the point in now losing patience
With the fact that we’ve been complacent
About gun violence as you might have guessed
Has us returning to the wild wild West
‘Cos the bullets fly with remarkable success
And so few of us rise up to even contest

We never was a civilized nation
Let the so-called Indians make that citation
Based on their years of deprivation
With seemingly little or no cessation
Ask the victims of the atom bomb
Whose shockwaves could be felt form Japan to Guam
Had them on their knees reciting the 23rd Psalms
When the mushroom cloud settled there was an irie like calm

We never was civilized
And that’s a sad fact
Today we can Google every single act
Of past atrocities from way way back
No sense in exceptionalists becoming outraged
When the examples are there page after page
Under a glaring spotlight they’re center stage
Ask the African slaves who were shackled and caged

We never were civilized
So the chickens came home to roost
And they didn’t even have to be induced
Once the hounds of hell had been cut loose
Now they’re asking, “What we gonna do?”
See this didn’t just happen out of the blue
And it’s clear to us there has to be a missing *****
When the Gog and Magog start getting through


Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2015.  All rights reserved.

spoken illiteracy through twisted tongues
asinine anticipation within myself
synthesizes her through her sides
sends shockwaves to her chest

hit the floor, screeching adore
offbeat stomps, sync my heart
feeling the beat
singing in my head
clapping away my dreams
welcoming the imp
crimp! crimp! shrimpy swine
electricity without a touch

smells like flickers
eat the blood, sprawled out in awe!
it's wonderful, it's faint
sticking to my tongue like spoiled paint

The clock rocks
tick tock
all the way to paradise.
While you look,
at old pictures of
situations you can no longer
remember.
In a flash they are
gone.
Long and
short hands
motioning that
your life is draining.
And the blackbird sings,
but only for a moment.
Knocking over the hourglass,
shattered time.
Oh, the
humanity.
Ring the gong,
sending shockwaves through
the world.
The global population's ear's
perk up,
listening,
waiting.
For the catastrophe at hand
to begin.
Monuments shatter and crumble,
the mind begins to deteriorate.
And the clock,
ticks
on
and
on.

Your hands move deftly down
sliding along my satin gown
never seeking to clumsily plunder
for treasure buried deeply under
but instead with skill and grace
meant to bring a smile to my face
teasing, pleasing, touching my soul
as you assume total control
sending shockwaves running through
creating salacious sensations whatever you do
taking me higher and higher still
as you give me thrill after thrill
wooing me wickedly all the night
raptured in lover's delight.

Feel your soul leave,
And your body crack,
Feel the air rush away,
And feel yourself drop.

Stone cold hard ground,
Shockwaves ripple through your entire body,
Clashing and bouncing off the walls on the inside,
Not a single breath can be taken.

Pain radiating throughout each blood vessel,
Every muscle screaming in agony as you will yourself to move,
Not a sound,
Not a flinch,
Just a frozen corpse,
Her soul slowly draining away,
leaving an empty shell of nothing.

the days are long and exhausting
but they're a distraction I desperately need
until night falls and I'm left alone
laying, staring at the ceiling
and everything I was sure I pushed away
comes back strong and forceful
and all I can do is hold on and try not to look directly into the blast,
wait for it to be over and wallow in its wake
until it's shockwaves finally succeed in knocking me unconscious,
and the distractions begin again.
even the nightmares are welcome
because they, too, are an escape.
nothing seems as bad as the battles of my mindfield
during every waking moment.
so I welcome the monsters and make them my friend
if nothing but to eat my thoughts
before they destroy my mind.