"wreckage" poems
Lucifer, save us; come up from Hell—
take a good look at the place that we dwell.
You were right all along
to refuse to bow down
to Adam and Eve
and their limitless throng.
And how could you have known that the apple you gave her
would plant seeds of pollution, destruction and terror?
You thought that we’d only use knowledge for good.
I know that you’d take it all back if you could.
Lucifer, we aren't angels like you.
We joined your rebellion, and soon we’ll be through.
Now the recourse from the wreckage that is,
is to bring on the foreshadowed Apocalypse.
So come on, Luci, don’t hesitate:
The Four Horsemen are pacing; why delay Fate.
After the End, there will be a new start,
perhaps without humans; we’ll bow and depart.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is Vanda Station.
We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind.
If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station.
Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one
Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions.
November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station.
Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island.
For the next few hours
There was no word
worst feared not heard
The radio crackled through the night
In the un natural sound of SSB
All crew up drinking coffee and tea
with the midnight sun
Glued to the HF single sideband
November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is
mac centre mac centre
howcopy
November zulu niner zero one
This is
vanda station vanda station
five four zero zero
Relay relay mac centre mac centre
Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Relay relay mac centre
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy
All through the night
Over and over
Hour after hour
The same message
Until that fateful call
Feared by all
Mac centre mac centre
This is
navy three two one
wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy
mac centre
navy three one niner
Longitude
One six sefen
Two sefen echo
Latitude
Sefen six
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre mac centre
This is
Navy three two one
Correction Correction
I say again latitude
I say again Latitude
Sefen sefen
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre
Navy three two one
Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors
Howcopy
So it was then,
That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash
Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship
by not relying on one thing alone.
was repeated in similar fate
by a latitude error
in the crash site location message
from the search aircraft XD01-48321
that found a terrible sight
that the sun stayed up on late
on a truly awful night
when 257 souls met their fate.
©GARY LEWIS.2009
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
Then suddenly the storm ended
The chaos was over
The sun came out and shed it’s light on all the wreckage
It made the tears running down my cheeks sparkle like diamonds
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 9:59 AM UTC
I have a message
For you haters
You're the wreckage
Your words like razors
No longer shall I keel
To your decimating attitude
I have an intransigent zeal
Of undeniable magnitude
Your reign of terror
Now a speck in the past
Your puppet strings I sever
Now free I feel, at last
I dare you, I dare you
Try to cut me down
But be warned, I will strew
Your face all over the ground
No longer am i afraid.
All the hated, it's time to stand
All the haters, it's time to be repaid
No more worries, just grains of sand
The tides now change
Deny them their satisfaction
Their power has no range
Haters, this is your termination
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Erebus disaster - November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is Vanda Station.
We have clear weather with no cloud and little wind.
If you want to fly over the dry valleys we will flash you with our signal mirrors so you can pinpoint the station.
Vanda Station, this is NZ niner zero one
Roger, we are now just north of Cape Hallett and will call you again for directions.
November Zulu Niner zero one Vanda Station.
Roger It’s a right hand turn just after Beaufort Island.
For the next few hours
There was no word
worst feared not heard
The radio crackled through the night
In the un natural sound of SSB
All crew up drinking coffee and tea
with the midnight sun
Glued to the HF single sideband
November zulu niner zero one
November zulu niner zero one
This is
mac centre mac centre
howcopy
November zulu niner zero one
This is
vanda station vanda station
five four zero zero
Relay relay mac centre mac centre
Please contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen
Relay relay mac centre
Contact mac centre eight niner niner sefen howcopy
All through the night
Over and over
Hour after hour
The same message
Until that fateful call
Feared by all
Mac centre mac centre
This is
navy three two one
wreckage sighting wreckage sighting howcopy
mac centre
navy three one niner
Longitude
One six sefen
Two sefen echo
Latitude
Sefen six
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre mac centre
This is
Navy three two one
Correction Correction
I say again latitude
I say again Latitude
Sefen sefen
Two six sierra
howcopy
Mac centre
Navy three two one
Ahh ahh mac centre There appear to be no survivors
Howcopy
So it was then,
That the on board data longitude error some would blame for the crash
Is something that happens often but is accommodated by good airmanship
by not relying on one thing alone.
was repeated in similar fate
by a latitude error
in the crash site location message
from the search aircraft XD01-48321
that found a terrible sight
that the sun stayed up on late
on a truly awful night
when 257 souls met their fate.
©GARY LEWIS.2009
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
There's a candle burning nightly
In the window, on the right
The house has long been empty
But, the candle's there each night
The house in old and ancient
I'm sure it has tales it needs to tell
Like, why the candle's burning
And why the house won't sell
The candle shows up daily
As soon as dusk begins to fall
The drapes are drawn so closely
In each room along the hall
But, in that lonely window
Burns a candle all can see
It's been burning there each evening
Since nineteen forty three
They say the house is haunted
After all, the candle is a clue
Someone lights it nightly
The question asked is who?
The house has been abandoned
No one lives there any more
They say the last survivor
Left in nineteen forty four
The story is as follows
If I get my rumours straight
The house was built around
The year eighteen eighty eight
The family that did own it
When the candle came to light
Were wealthy, and reclusive
And they all kept out of sight
The story goes, their oldest son
Signed up and went to war
He was a pilot in the air force
He shot down 15 planes or more
He was shot down on a mission
But his plane was never found
They never found the wreckage
Where it crashed into the ground
The candle started burning
The day the message came
It's always burning in the window
It's always lit, it's all the same
The candle shows when it is dusk
It goes out just past three
No one knows who lights it
There's no one there to see
Is the candle lit by spirits
Waiting for a missing son
Is it lit to help pass over
To make his journey done
No one knows the exact story
If the plane crashed and he died
But, even in the daylight
People don't pass by on this side
The house is an enigma
Is a ghost there waiting for
A son to come home to them
Marching through the old front door
All I know is that the candle
Has been lit for 60 years
And there's a ghost up there just waiting
Crying quiet , ghostly tears
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.
And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
.
***Ancient games
tell tales of dust. ||| A story drawn
from the lips of two poets.***
~~~~~
It's the wits that **** not Queens of ivory or ***ink. ***
Charged with coal strokes, scraping up the lies.
Pawns & Knights slip between the grasp of the sun, leaking into* lion jaws of Leo.
Shifting these granite plates, ignoring the Rooks common price of aslant.
Here we have slain kin, crescent traitors that backstab the night and battlefield.
Closed doors and trap floors, trade me a tie, swindling your tactic ruts.
Reality never got the noose around our necks, check turned into manslaughter, and kingdoms ripped asunder by the roar of Jupiter
Get up, get up, get away from these liars, they can't have your rank or your fire.
Peak a notion, this match is spared by a luft.
Toss away the pride buried 'neath your dusty skin, it don't matter no more if death has you by the lips.
Silence is a language too in our eyes of earth.
Take my hand, knott your soul into this downfall, and brace yourself for the wreckage in our bones.
The Sword of Sorrows will fall 'pon your shoulders, not to slay thee, but to dub thee a new day.
The drums of war will knit the lyrics in the sky,
singing:
"The mighty sharpen their fangs, the weak sharpen their wisdom"
~~~~~
I'm tired of your wishbones, and golden scales, give me the hard-earned truth.
Hot coals of honesty may you tread upon, shadow-bitten remorseful may you be, don't stray off the course of Ursa major.
The North star isn't the one I follow
It's the moon with all of it's phases,
Eclipsing and crescent, tipping the sky with it's beauty.
Now let this sink further than any soul has ever sunk,
no man could ever
*rule the moon.
~~~~~~
***Shoot on command,
C
h
e
c
k
m
a
t
e***
~~~~
You could drag me to hell and back and those words wouldn't mean anything.
Let this downfall become a downfell,
Because last I checked
"Wolves worship the moon"
and I have broke it's reflection in the water
*Just
by
throwing
s
t
o
n
e
s
.*
.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
T'was the night before Christmas
And with everything done
The kids were all dreaming
Of Christmas Day fun
The tree was completed
We had wrapped all the toys
When from the basement below
We heard a faint noise
I sprung from the couch
Took off down the stairs
On my way through the kitchen
I tripped on two chairs
I slid down the staircase
To the base of my house
And there with my shortbreads
Was a ****** great mouse
My wife followed close
And then she let out a shriek
She saw me and the mouse
And she started to freak
He nibbled the cookie
and he ran past my nose
right down my torso
Then he stopped at my toes
My wife was still screaming
The mouse didn't care
He continued his running
On under the stairs
I crawled to my workshop
Grabbed the first thing I found
A mallet for pounding
That mouse in the ground
I limped to the staircase
And I swung at the wall
I again lost my balance
And again, I did fall
I put two holes in the riser
Two more in the tread
I was gonna keep swinging
Till that mouse was dead
I broke the one lightbulb
That lit up the room
Now I was worried
I couldn't see...found the broom
I stepped on one end
Squared my self in the sack
I then heard a noise
The mouse had come back
I heard his slight skitter
As he went past my feet
He was off to the larder
For more stuff to eat
I went back to the workshop
Tripping at least three more times
I would finish this mouse
He would pay for his crimes
I grabbed for a lighter
And my large propane torch
I would hunt down this mouse
And his **** I would scorch
I lit up the propane
And I aimed at the stairs
It caught light on the carpet
And I burnt both those chairs
The flames went on upward
The stairs were quite dry
I laughed in hysterics
That **** mouse would fry
My wife had recovered
And decided to run
but, after seeing the flames
She phoned up 9 1 1
The mouse left the building
In fact, he never was found
The house burned in seconds
It collapsed to the ground
And through the whole scene
I just stood there and laughed
At the wreckage before me
And I thought, **** I'm daft
I had ruined our Christmas
And I burned down our house
Over a **** shortbread cookie
And one little mouse
The kids, they got out
And were wrapped up and warm
While I was creating
My own perfect storm
The gifts were all ruined
The house ...all consumed
And over my head
One large question loomed
If I had gone for the shotgun
And shot at the mouse
Would I be still having Christmas
And would I still have a house
My wife came on over
And she gave me a swat
She said "look what you've done"
"you great stupid ****
I learned a great lesson
and folks ...it is that
Once I rebuild
I will then buy a cat!!!
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
I've gotten so used to greyscale
On this faulty monitor
That I've almost forgotten what colors look like
As they dance across the screen
I have had enough of this monochromatic monotony
So I snip wires, rip out cords
Do anything I can to see if I can get the color back
The only cable I leave alone is the one connecting it to the wall
I stand there in the robotic wreckage
And see a bit of red blinking on the screen
My world is not yet in technicolor
But this is a start.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
Distressed tears trickle down a face soiled with dolor
Flooding a pillow with painful memories
drowning every being of hope
Swallowing love in a black hole
Only to be thrown back up
As a wreckage of confused emotion
A sponge soaking up all my ambition
Leaving pessimistic thoughts to fill the cold void where there is only an echo of happiness
My already cracked spirits are fatigued
Sharply cutting through my mind where affection is suffocated
And lust is left gasping for air
My insecurities seek acceptance
Confiding in the cushion that holds every tear
It welcomes my troubles
And shuns my dreams
I am a lost soul
If only I could abide behind a fortress that protects my heart
only then will my tears cease
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
A series
of short puffs
from a rekindled
cigarette expertly put out
on the half
reminds you of your
fastidiousness
now you feel like **** as you look
at the wreckage site
of a desk that
is your own doing
That is what you do.
While your ego
floats like the unmelted
coffee you put in cold water
Hardly dissolvable
to anything normal
missing anything temporal
You lash out once more
waging a war
with a nation
of thoughts
You kick the furniture
to send the dust flying
That is what you do.
You attempt to sheathe
an intricate wound
patterned on your
knuckle, as detailed as the
dystopia of your
own human agenda that
can be trivialized by just
"I haven't been myself lately"
when somebody asks
because you're afraid
they might see
you find it
hard
to
belong
Slowly, the dust resorts to settle
on the bedroom floor
And so do you.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
What do you want from me?
I ask my memories,
Wondering why they’ve come out to play,
Tap dancing across the wood floors of me mind,
Creating a cacophony that echoes off my skull.
What do you want from me?
I hear them when they respond, “We’re trying to make you safe.”
I know they’re attempting to prevent tumbling off the same rocks,
Trying to ensure I don’t crack bones on the same hard places.
They are telling me to avoid having pieces of me stolen again.
I couldn’t protect myself at thirteen or sixteen,
So I stumbled down the same dark alleys until I was 18
And paid a grander price in an even darker cave at 19.
I’m 22 now, and I’m still picking up the pieces out of the mouths of men,
Men who cut me down until I was a conglomerate of bite size, fuckable pieces.
I was taught not to scream when my pieces were being consumed.
Who needs to be a whole human anyway?
If tip money went into my pocket,
If he told me he loved me afterwards,
If I was alive to see the morning light,
Who was I to complain?
And when I stopped wanting to see the sun rise,
They gazed upon my pieces
And berated me for the wreckage.
What do you want from me?
Is a question I only know how to ask myself.
I have never dared ask those who stole from me
Whether they came to me in good faith,
Never had the wisdom to lock up what was valuable.
I have never demanded of anyone what their intentions were,
So I ask again: What do you want from me?
What am I expected to provide?
Am I allowed to be a whole human here?
Or will you require I be bite size again?
I am desperate to be safe in the same flesh that once enticed those who hunted me.
What do you want from me?
I’ll tell you what I want.
I want to go home whole,
Knowing my skin is all mine.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 12:50 PM UTC
They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."
And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.
But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.
They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.
Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.
So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.
And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.
Feb 18, 2025
Feb 18, 2025 at 2:11 AM UTC
Philippines in trouble typhoons are at war
death and destruction all around houses there no more
people there left homeless hoping to survive
waiting in despair for assistance to arrive
contaminated water theres no food to eat
all they have is wreckage all around there feet
all they have is hope for someone just to care
to take them back to safety and get them out of there
when the typhoons over they can build there lives once more
live in peace and harmony just like it was before.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
His nights are restless, endless dreams
of young men climbing ladders.
The ones who stop to fix their vests
are left below, row after row
there seems no end, distorted faces,
silent screams through bottle bottom glass.
Twenty winters wishing that
the dream might finally end,
he tilts his head and looks at God
above his bed, a crucifix upon the wall,
his Jesus hangs and bleeds for sins
of lesser men but for him there is no comfort,
he can't escape the scene of drifting death
and flotsam, sailors drinking blood
from swollen corpses, greedy
in the eyes like the sharks
that encircle them.
When daylight comes
still no relief, he sits among
his salty sheets and chokes
on waves of guilt. Deceit
will always be his master,
every day no different
than the rest
except,
today he’s had enough,
the dead,
they will not cease their torment.
Twenty winters waiting
but the dead won’t go away.
The boys who stopped to fix their vests
The man with gaping wound in chest
The burning wreckage going down
The screams of those who soon would drown
The oily water thick as mud
The utter chaos, flesh and blood
The rabid thirst he could not quench
afloat in pools of human stench
He goes outside and lies upon
the grass, a Navy Colt revolver
in one hand, a toy soldier in the other,
he puts the gun against his head
and pulls the trigger.
Twenty winters
Twenty winters
Rest
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
I started on the rooftop
The empty sky above was all I had
And all I needed
It was pure
Like a blank page
Waiting for a story to be written
But at the first sight of clouds
I fled to the top floor
There were fun and simple things on the top floor
Like Pokémon games
I got red, white, and blue
The monsters seemed so banal and repetitive
But nobody else would acknowledge it
Sending me into a dragon's rage
I tried using flamethrower on Charmander
Ending in futility as I ran out of burn heals
I looked out the window in frustration
Rain was falling outside
Inside
Patriotism was buffeted by the hail
So I devolved into a lower level
Going further down this building
For ***** and giggles
I found more ****
Less giggles
On a floor with a TV displaying the news
I was eager to learn about the world
Only to learn everybody hates each other
And nobody talks
Or cares
And the smartest person in the room
Is the one I agree with the most
Unable to view the tokens in my mind
As anything less than treasure
And those who try to persuade me otherwise
Are thieves
My spite steals tranquility
Like the persistent storm outside
My solution is shelter in lower levels
My experimentation on communication
With the general population
Had rained on my playful parade
But I felt very comfortable on a floor with friends
Until they saw through my charade
Discovering my emotions in disarray
As the people who made me love this building
Made me curse it's walls the more I loved them
I searched for the peaceful embrace of solitude
Once the storm outside transformed into a typhoon
I found that solitude
In a tiny bare room
With a syringe and spoon
I was unaware
That room was an elevator
That lowered me down the concrete void
As the hurricane outside rattled me violently inside my box
Trapped and lacking all agency
I resigned myself to wherever the elevator chose to take me
After the elevator finished pulling me into the basement
The tsunami seemed to cease
But I was buried under debris
I had to burrow out of my tomb
The dig was tedious and *****
My perseverance was heroic
But triumph was thwarted
When I reached the surface
To discover only wreckage remained
And when I looked up
I saw the building I inhabited
It's damaged facade
Made it clear
I would never visit those floors I missed on the elevator
Above my building
Hangs an empty sky
It's purity is a lie
The page was never blank
Just constantly written on and erased
To lure innocent readers into a tome
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC
you caused this fire
with a dimpled smile and a plane ticket
can’t suffocate a blaze with a match
petrol running down my legs
wanna watch me burn at the stake?
7,000 miles of wildfires called me by your name
like a moth drawn to a flame
we kissed on the light up floor
your fingers inside of me, it was divine to me
surrendering my soul to my god
left my lipstick scars all over you
i ate the apple from the softness of your hand
our garden of eden was no holy land
i let you knock at the door of my spine
no malice in my voice, come inside
but baby, you weren’t expecting
me to multiply
like a moth drawn to a flame
i bit your tongue in the break of day
wanted to taste your blood for a change
nothing like a little emotional
devastation to get me through it
yell it más, señor
til your vocal cords are ******
oath taken in sacred silence
tragedy and insanity and is
it all a game to you?
because you hid while i sought
yell it más, señor
yell it más
and when i told you of the flower blossoming within
you cried like a boy for his mother
you see, there’s no way we can keep it
not for your career
and the next day on the 405
my soul wrung empty inside
suffocating loneliness, all-consuming
75mph, nearly opened my door
told my therapist i wanted the asphalt to eat me alive
they took me to the madhouse
while you had a pint and a laugh miles from my hospital bed
they said
“she wants to end her life with a baby inside, oh, what a terrible state she’s in”
the doctor watched me as i cried
with cigarette breath and roaming hands
forced the wand inside of me
at the same time i jumped over the ledge
and did you know i laid in silence
while he whispered in my ear
“good girl, it’s a girl”, you see, oh?
can’t you feel the joy?
of creating something like God herself?
like vines sprouting from the soil?
but Oceania, so much panic, yeah
too far, didn’t wanna come near
my ash-strewn wreckage
like a moth drawn to a flame
blazing light, burned just right
i wanted you to suffocate my pain
pretended it didn’t exist for our
transpacific love games
i’ll be Marilyn and you be Errol
the actor who can’t survive any longer
and the one who devoured a woman whole
yell it más, señor
oh god i’m bleeding on the bathroom floor
so much sacrifice for paradise
but isn’t this what it’s for?
tragedy and insanity and
oh no, it’s all a game, i see
yell it más, señor
yell it más
aliel
enaj
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 8:08 AM UTC
Astonished at the plethora of cars outside my casket, I try to get up. But, I'm held down by chains. It's so bright through the little cracks in The casket that I have to squint my eyes.
The sunRays ask me, "are you ready for this ride?"
I'm pinned down, hell bound. All these gifts decorated around me and on top of me signify that I'm decaying.
I am the epitome of the hearts grief. Since day one I was infected by your leave. Theres a honk, then A crash. Caused by the distraction of me being buried. Theres a hole in the window, theres a girl in the seat and there's a screech.
"Wait for me girl!" I scream. I scramble to get free. Get me out of here. Where's the rescue for her soul? The wreckage burdens me. As people flea my scene, I see backs turn from me.
Just a bit overheated, i awake from this peculiar dream. Also me in the parking lot, with the key, foot on brake, rumbled and shakes to start for a drive.
It then dawns on me; I'm going to my own funeral.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
It's not simple
It's rusted nails breaking skin
Lightning flashes in a hurricane
The crack of a body hitting the pavement
It's the pinch of nails in your palms
The tremble of your legs when you think they're watching
The ache in your chest when your binding is too tight
But not tight enough
It's not a stormcloud, it's a typhoon
It's not a discomfort, it's torment
Its the steel beams in your chest snapping under pressure
Your skeleton crumbling so maybe your chest will be flat then
But all those rusted nails and steel beams
Heated by the fire and fury of passion
Remold into something new
Someone who can stand a bit straighter
Speak louder
Tip their chin up
And show the world who they are
Who he is.
Dysphoria is a skyscraper crumbling to ash
But it's also scraps of wreckage
Reminded into a safe haven
A place of rest
A place of comfort
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
i feel like i’m made of glass
and last february,
you broke me.
i shattered.
you didn’t know
and you didn’t care
and you just. kept. pushing.
i broke into a million jagged pieces
and you
you took some of them with you.
i can’t get them back
and i’m not stupid enough to try.
you shattered me
and i was careless enough
to cut myself in the wreckage.
nothing was the same.
you broke me when i said no
and i thought
maybe
i could put myself back together
by saying yes--
again, and again, and again.
to strangers.
to friends.
to anyone who would listen,
and now all of my bridges are in flames
and i’m getting burned.
do you know what happens to burning glass?
i do.
it’s happening to me
and i’m starting to fly away in the wind,
slipping through my own fingers
like sand on the beach.
scattered so far
and so wide
that finding my way back together is like searching
for a single grain
on the ocean floor.
i'm drowning in my past
searching
for a lifeline
reaching for anything--
for anyone--
that will take me
that will tape me back together
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC
He watched as she fell
He watched as he did what he had to
He watched as she hit the ground
He listened
There was no sound
He watched as their world split
He cringed at the spectacle
Unfolding before his eyes
He listened
There were no cries
He felt the shockwave
As her reality exploded
He marveled at the colors the wound
He listened
And then it boomed
Violent
Force
Wreckage
Shrapnel
Fallout
Screams
Weeping
Unrestrained
Anguish
Betrayal
Hatred
But hold on child
This is not the end
This is just a pothole
On the Warpath of Love
So look to the Bittersweet Bystander
His hand extended now
Take the help he offers
You need it to continue
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
You pull me through doorways
with cherry red charm.
You fill me with whiskey
and hang on my arm.
We waltz through the wreckage,
the crown and her guest.
Your hem lined in ashes,
the last of what’s left.
The clerk asks for blood.
The stone has run dry.
We promise, tomorrow
and feed him with wine.
The clouds now move faster,
with voice of hard wind.
It speaks to you only
as thunder moves in.
You twist here beside me
and curl like a vine,
your teeth in my shoulder,
reliving some crime.
You hold me so tightly
and whisper your vows.
Your secrets stay hidden.
Your tears are so loud.
Jun 8, 2023
Jun 8, 2023 at 12:43 AM UTC