Panic,
placed on the splintered edge of a dreaming mind,
I spit and sputtered, like the dying wings of
a dragonfly on a cold cappuccino morning.

She called me in the dark moody blue hue of early morning
as if to steal the broken moon from the attic in  my chest.
So early I could hear the creak of spider legs
inching for a place of warmth.

Still in dream logic,  she was crying so quietly
Melted spoons for a brain, I could only hear
the groans and pains of
the pet spiders on my ceiling,
their  so cute and pissy in the morning.

She muffled "I need help"
I snapped awake as if a reflex to fight a charging train wreck.
This time advice came direct from my dream landscape the truth served dark black
and without the vanilla flavor.
I focus and get in gear "Hey girlie I am here, whats going on?"
An  hour goes by a like a cat sneeze on a stormy day.


Again she laughs if I could see her, her smile would be wide tired and tear stained.
I laugh  with her, while aching at the corner of my eyes " well hey try that tomorrow and if it doesn't work we can brainstorm to try something else. Call me tomorrow my sleepiness is welting  my consciousness, I am not much use now except maybe for some mad hatter talk." A pause  she sighs as if pushing of sleep. I wanted just one more smile to be sure" Stand strong if you can survive this hit the sky will clear for you. We'll strangle the rainmaker if we have to"

parting jokes and the call the ends, my moon back in my chest
content spiders basking  in rays of light I can almost hear the hum of the morning sun.

I smile fading with the ceiling tucking me in, I can see her curled up with her stuffed animals half crying half terrified she falls to sleep drooling on her long time best friend
Mr finkers.

and
Finally the purr of happy spiders lulls be back to sleep.

morning
the city is gruffly petted with heat  
       buildings quiver in the primeval whither
wide mouthed and whiskered
         the catfish thrive in the sewers
taking aggression to the air and fixing to the trees
        the insects speed into vigorous breeding

in the populated afternoon    city is sternly scored    
pressed down on    its wilted fur pushed    from back to front
each itchy person   is its own greasy hair
salt beads from brows    and stinging eyes are blinded

scolded and bonded      the witless humans slow
natures patient pace is not kin to their will
          antsy
ticking noises and electric whines whittle the air
discomfort makes life immediate
       a deal to be flustered with
every enduring breath is consciously felt
       alive and in suffering

i crouch my form in shelter
a jilted couch to lean against     bordering a grown over lot
watching the foxes patrol in sweltering sun
what expected prey   brought them into the light ?
i release my hurt understanding   (it patrols also)
my hurt snakes through the long tough grass   and tacky broken glass
it moves further   raised in a mirage hover
over welting heat from the melting tarmac
this way   i please my way into nurture
this way   i ease my suffering
hum with the wires
and smile at a good day putrefying

Racing heart, fluttering eyes
Putting on a fake disguise
Tremors running through my veins
Chills are driving me insane
Feelings of anticipation
Doomed to ultimate damnation
Snapping bands across my wrists
Returning scars that still exist
Welting up and turning red
But these poor scars have already been bled
Crying both inside and out
Nothing left to talk about
Charred soul and swelled up arms
Isn't there a saying, the third time's a charm?

The sludge
of mud
       that creeps up
to my eyes
squelches me
down like quicksand
***** a large
breathing object
                         into
its grainy film
an antithesis
       of sea
lungs sputtering
out brain reeling
in remnants of
clusterfucked,
panic –driven
welting
and I am ready to
burst out
legs trapped
yet voice high
heart squealing
in the fire
bring me to
somewhere
it’s a situation
                    dire
this madness
cupping me through
time-realms
and I must find it
that liquid that
wet flow of writhing
struggling
breaking
            free
of those heavy bands
of slimy kelp
holding me
squirm me out
I don’t care
if I get the
muck of centuries
in my hair
for in my veins
my blood does see
I crave the sunlight's
strokes
and
        I
            must
breathe

i am incredibly foolish & repetitive
foolishly repetitive
repetitively foolish;
there is a pebble in my heart,
small but firm,
impenetrably set still,
demanding to be felt
coercing the blood supply to soak it all up
as if blood can seep through
a pebble
it cannot; but it won’t stop
demanding attention
it is smothering
and relentless;
i have shortness of breath
and my heart pounds
like a door slammed shut
and then opened
and then slammed shut
it’s almost as if i can feel the pebble
rattle within the walls
with
each
pound,
welting the vulnerable tissue;
open,
slammed shut,
open,
slammed shut;
we all forget how to cry
when we most need to

I am tired of being told what I should and what I shan't.
And I know this platform isn't for ranting and yet here I'll rant.
I am sick of being empty, aimless, vague and out of place.
I am sick of wasting all your air, of taking all your space.
And my claws, I use to tear my skin, so that I could be set free,
And my screams I let out muffled and hushed to spare you my agony.
And my body feels imprisoning, my breath is getting faint
And my eyes are melting, face is welting, dying from the paint
And the bathroom doors complaining from the numb and from the tear
And my psyche getting tired of all the sorrow and the fear.
And the voice inside my head, always saying I'm not enough
And the lies I tell myself like "you can make it, you are tough."
And the people I looked up, lived with, shared with my days
And the lies they taugh me, unconditional love, they said, stays.
And the God whom I once worshiped and for whom I often cried
And the deaf, the blind, the disabled, to whom he's closely tied.
And the fact that I am beyond your repair, beyond all that can be done
And the way I feel at the start of each day and with every falling sun.
And the creature biting on my heart at every given chance
And the demons sitting in my head, not letting me advance.
And the love I always had, different faces every while
And the feelings that I gave away and never even got a smile.
This is not a ranting place, and yet here I wrote.
Is this a good place though to write one's suicide note?

Layers
peeled back
everyone's wearing
so many layers.
Under my thin thin skin
the words I haven't spoken
the thoughts I haven't registered yet
beating right inside my chest
the dirt I let in you can't see
the lines, scars, burns, cuts
wounds make up me
wounds made of me
angry, welting, scorched
fade to cool pale shapes in my soul
j'ai faim, j'ai faim
mais je n'ai pas vui
la nourritures pour ma vie
for my soul
I can't see breathe feel think move bleed love hurt
all I can do is be.
But I can't even do that.
I can barely speak.
So I write.

I’ve lived in the thrush
and hot candle wax
a palm of welting skin pressed against a foggy window
damp with the grit and sweat of dawn
I stepped into the copse
bundled in its swarthy tightness
there is rot here
and flesh
the pulsing of a heart
giving life to each sapling and elder branch
if one wants to find the heart of the forest
look no further than up
the moon
a woman in her own right
no celestial body can deny this truth
there is a certain relativity to one’s heart
and to the extent of which blood and flesh and bone define us
I wanted to believe in something not purely physical
that could tell me what I was or could be
but my blood and flesh and bone
bind me
to the dirt and to the heart of the forest
which I hope
I believe
is not purely physical
in its own right

One winter day
He leans in to me to say
3 words aloud
Because our  boat  is about to drown
Like Ice melting
Our cuts are welting
Into a scab
That was once a stab
Silly sticky skates
Rolls on our date
He says, my baby blue
I love you
Love love love
Is this true?
Love love love
Or is it a quick fix like glue?
But falling for his eyes
And not realizing
My lip touches his
Forgetting out troubles
But now our love doubles

The jitters building up
A psychological blowup
Welting in the pit of our stomach
As we are wishing for luck
Mentally preparing
For what’s coming
Keep on hoping
To be the best as we are nearing
Close to the very biggest
Most important step to us
Breathing for tranquility- in and out
Losing ourselves, just about
Deep breaths
Sad attempts
Calm the nerves
Mind moving through curves
Scattered pieces
Mentality ceases

Minutes turn to seconds
Limits go beyond-
The bar
Reaching the stars

Red petal maw
Growing wide
And Gasping deep
On the sill like skin
Grown Ink bled red
Making scrawled critique in patches
And the poppy addled spring
Blooming rich and red
All over the ward
Till the air smells sweet
And clean and white
Dancing in the rattle draft
till the breath grows soft
And still

I saw the hemorrhaged gorge
of deeper red
That welled inside him
Like the blossom
When I pressed his hand
And held his head

I watched the wither
Beside him in the night
Wondering with him at the dreams of dying poppies
At the furrows of their season
The Welting swollen purple and blue
Heaving
And dripped in IV's
Pluming in blood
And pooling its petals
One by one

Like forget me not
At the crest of spring
Making breathing a shallow
Easy thing
Forgotten among the poppy's blossom

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Measuring the sights of the land.
Sitting, waiting and welting.
Constantly drumming their shaking hands.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Grabbing sticks and melting tragedies by drowning down.
We wonder, we wait, we sigh.
Looking for a reason to move.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Pressing up thoughts of the grey chain.
Mimicking the great sorrow.
Embracing a new companion in vein.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
They lie and lie and lie.

I, ripe
fruit,
a-wait dreams,
legends, storms~
In song, become
girl, with voice, hair,
lips, let me ex
press to you the welling,
welting of
the cardiovascular.
Precipice of a
smile, sultry swirl of
cloud before the
wet. Orange
skies cut to
red. Brok
en clocks because maybe without time they'll get here before I
wilt.

I'm boiling.
The littlest things flick the switch.
Impatience coursing through my veins,
welting like little bitter bullets
sent straight to the heart. I
swallow them whole
in an awkward embrace.
Mask the fury, the white anger.
The rod is in the trunk of the car.

Untruth churns in depths of elden castings
Falsehood turns the pacings, everlasting
Duplicity in everything avasting

Misinformation station
Take a ticket, wait, debate,
Assail, avail in love of liar's nation

Circuitous circumvention
Of mindful morsels of intention
Swept beneath the rug
No worth be mentioned

As suffering and death explain
The qualms and qualities
Of life beget to life in vain
Entrenched in their dualities

Thine incision thought deranged
Transcribed in abnormality
The pointed lance, in hands estranged
Whence masking actuality

So stir the *** of melting
For it may cool and thence congeal
It seems we're strung about and welting
Punished in penchant to feel

the shine of her shrine brings fair smiles to some,
young lies fester and spread faster than flies hatching from larvae.

Days by days - weeks at a time - content is a constant crisis to our protagonist

summer is welting while winter is begging to stop the talk of death,
but change is soon - somethings are better not stopped; the same as letting the flame from the candle die with the room...

My cubist
face looks out
the window at a
moon wrestling
sinuous blackish
clouds that fling
welting scales of
rain in little belts.

My face enjambs
like these lines,
& I catch sight of
the cloud basin
climbing higher
& higher into
the upper champagne
of the atmosphere,
clouds the same
shade as dull teeth
in a wet mouth.

The angles of
my jaw -
cameras fail
to distill it.
Or I am so full
of wild will
that no one
notices my face
is a trompe l'oeil.
In this pale light
I'm all cheek
and brow-
another bottle
of wine and I
can smear my
own memory of it.  

The clouds
I mentioned, they
fell one by one
into the Anacostia
river, never to be
seen again.

Running the faucet hot you need to feel the string
Physical, real, catching your breath, something to make you scream
You want to feel the pain
You want to cry in a form
Because your emotional state is numb
You do not notice that strain anymore
No more sensation in those chambers anymore
So look at that welting, those blisters on your skin
For your heart has already welted away
As a rose blown gone in the wind