I love contemplation, curiosity, self awareness, imagination and strange things. I write about the human condition, and often write about love lost. Tragic, haunting, graphic, strange, heart-wrecking sorrow calls to me, and so; I write. I believe there is beauty in sorrow. I’ve lived it, seen it, felt it, know it. I hope that my words create a Universe of their own for you, full of visuals and contemplation.
Please note, because I feel that some posts are more for adults, just drop me an email and I’ll give you the code 🙂 Anyway, thank you for reading my words. I hope that you enjoy.
This quiet desperation These camera lens eyes have developed fractured tears That rush like a furious rainfall running down the stairs After curling the edges of filmstrips piled high in the attic; Yellowed memoirs Often left unfinished, though not for a lack of trying Unseasoned years littered with coffee and cigarettes, bent and tangled dreams, and the chill of injured shadows… I have built myself into a mishmash of corridors that lead into limbo – Paper mache covered cliches keep me safe from myself I need to find my eyes again Dig them out from beneath these mounds of frozen ground Where earth and carcass of bird are tethered solid until spring Feathers spread like delicate pointy daggers, or barricades, or compasses Innocence and bittering rippling in the wind… This deadness is quieter than falling snow – Tastes musty on my tongue, and my fingers are blue Not because it is minus ten degrees, but from holding onto the coffin It’s backwards, exactly – Others push the coffin away, while in dreams I wander among lush sprays, of which to adorn mine But I guess that it is with the unknowns that I feel the most alive My arms full with the familiar plumpness of unpleasantness, and a disappointment bouquet Dead petals dripping soft darkness… It is my corrosive tendency to take the route of punishment – I take my traumatism and my wounds seriously Plaster and stitching needle, antiseptic, apologies, and lilies by my bedside To cobble the disrepair that’s maliciously beautiful… I can’t bear the feeling of failing you I can’t suffer you leaving I pinch and pierce, dig and claw, shove you back against the thorns Keep you far from me Devour seed, sever roots, irrigate weeds Reopen scar tissue with pendulating fingers, and an orphidian tongue… Dance with tomorrows funeral; Lime liquor on my lips, as they feed the air with sloppy syllables While my incoherent fingers knock over the pawn – And it rolls across the checkered floor, bouncing off of rooks and horses, like a flailing top in a hedge maze… I want to stuff my bones with sugared stars Fill my veins with cherried passion Leave the rotting of these seasons to the stones and lambswool – Wrap it snug and deep, weigh it down, to quiet my temptations, so I can sleep… The bones are gone There are no bones to hold me The tongues hold on The stories that they told me – A thousand burrs in a field, among the crumbling stalks Beneath the threadbare sky Dot my grueling mind Estranged lips spitting dandelion parachutes, that float and land, to seed Malignant crust, that sprouts cholera mind And Cemetery eyes
In the sickroom; This dread abode… Hateful season, how you mock me Sooty angels pry into my dreams with caustic, razor fingers Of which they use to riven the last tatters of hope Place their decayed eyes in my direction, as gauzy lips of melancholia, stone cold Are pressed against my forehead While they trim their hemlock wings, leathery feathers piling up like the brittle stars That you’ve left inside a thousand green bottles on top of the brick wall in the back yard – Graves in rows Taking up too much space in my heart – Rows so long that they blur into shapes of useless mouths, sinful lips; Like yours Spitting words of which you’ve casually dissected all meaning – Sliced away its resplendent, precious luster Little by little as the toilsome years bit deep When a mothers wounds were handed down as bitter candy Love embalmed with cyanide fractures; Eggshell fault lines from preexisting umbilical instability Goading life to swipe away at your spirit during such thankless decades of drought A heritage of malnutrition and insanity Until you found your god in a bottle Disassembled and parched; You drank him in Razed the roof until you rattled the dead – Annoyed; They screeched against the cinnamon sun that rose through your pores, from your booze-soaked veins Oozed from your clammy skin… Bloated pupils drift aimlessly; Jellyfish sans tentacles – Ricochet in slow motion off of violent irises Like blobs in lava lamps camped out on top of a seventies television set As you slump back on the couch, stare at its blank screen Like it’s a wormhole to Persephones sanctum A haven where the bones sing you lullabies that empty your head of its torturous pain – Your affliction, boring through blood and bone in frenetic mastication… Drop by drop, liquid sex sliding down your throat, until moony delirium Did you find a gods perspective from your hazy alcove? This wasting away… Until you have no care, no concern for precious things Stepping over the cusp, raging demon; You have left your eyes behind You have cut your face into my greatest fear Torn your lips into a snarling ferocity that spits our memories into ashes of tears My heart, my spirit disintegrates into suicide wounds The air swirls as Mercy descends, leathered wings curling round her… There is no place for me in her sooty embrace I’m not even a shadow in our photographs I hear you humming in the other room, as if you’re at peace with our final goodbye I hear you set the bottle down I used to think that your indifference to my feelings was your wounded child lashing out
Feed me gasoline Then set me on fire My pain, my flames, our demise – The only light in your dead eyes
Were it not for your departure – Your subtle, sweet scent which lingers on the voile curtains Wraps around me like a silky husk… Like a last, sorry goodbye from the arms of a lover that knows he must abandon all hope – Crushing loves’ timepiece beneath the heel of his well-worn boot, scattering its ghosts in all directions Were it not for these precious things – Hours of dreams, and dreaming Countless flutters of the heart, murmurs of desires, joyful transcendences Stitched together on butterfly wings, to take flight with the swiftest ascent Melded into the armored breastplates of dragonflies, to withstand the frost, and darkness And the barren temperament that life offers in the palms of its withered, calloused hands… Then, I would inhale the last of your scent into my wilting lungs Hold it there until it spun itself into lacy threads that built sticky, scattered webs – Tethering you to me And oh how I would give up the ghost without so much as one tender tear Never to breathe another casual, happy breath again If it meant that I could follow you into the unknown infinities of beyond If only one last time, my weary fingers could soothe the burdens from your brow Plumb the braided knots from your ravaged spine Touch that mouth, of which I pressed my lips against to share my secrets and fragrant yearnings… Would that I had the providence in this gypsy heart, to alert me to the depths of sprawling pain that this love would incur But no… I would not have taken to the sky, wings carrying me to the moons hidden crevices So that I could deny love, cage it within rusted, lonely bars… Must I steal from love all of its rapt glory, due to scars, and tears, and throttled rose bushes? – Petals in forensic freefall, until thudding against the cold, hard ground… We were chaos in a sugar bowl And you, with your goblet eyes full of ruin – A cimmerian, bleak valentine that spoke to me with words of dark longing You were simmering shadow obscuring sunlight Misery seeping, fluid and pulsing, like these inky words running off of the page, smearing my fingertips And I; I was lovingly lost in your decadent dreariness Tearing at my hair, clawing; Scraping winter wounds – Decorating my eyes with dead prayers, betrayed ghosts And brittle feathers, from the carcasses of crows in the corner boneyard, outside the south window Your promises weren’t mine We fell from different disappointments before we found our footing Oddments burrowing beneath our skin, until our eyes lost their shine And we forgot to find what we never knew But, it doesn’t matter I loved you anyway, and love you even still Your voice carrying in the swaying feathered stalks that caress the brick walls “Hush,” I tell myself Those soft whispers are meant to be mine when I am still The drumming of my heart turning toward the night sky where you are waiting
These precious things that you have left with me Keep me grounded and alive though I would gladly depart if you somehow sent word – Through old, musty pages, drum, visions or bird… I would attempt to take flight, give up the ghost But all I have left, in the most primitive form, is to hold the curtains to my nose, and see the buds next to the thorns I feel your warmth against my spine And I think that this won’t be our last goodbye I think that it will wind Through each season, each numinous, luminous, painterly occasion