23 October, 2014

Writing the Wrongs

Writing the Wrongs

There is no muse for this music to play for. 
The coffers lain barren longer than dreams. 
Achingly etching the notes in monosyllabic
Tempos losing the value; means of melody. 
Citing a disease's fortune owning my soul. 
Its pocks to bare relevance but only blandly. 
Contentedly misguided by my feverishness
All I am to sing writ upon a wall none pass. 

It hungers for any eye to trace this tapestry. 
Such wintry reception repeats into the void.
It becomes swallows of dark temptation to
Lead the weary jester further from the flock. 
Transfixed by the fixture of these sentiments
Even as they bury into cacophonies of woes. 
It becomes a bloodletting, piercing a mind to
Make known all splendors; so too the horrors. 

Frightful still, those who would search it out,
To taste the wretched waters that flow there. 
To swallow pieces of the melody, to see into
A chasm where a heart shrivels to die awake. 
To join in solace at the price of feigned sanity. 
How can a peaceful soul step by this place?
It is the truth of nature that one becomes to
None, and the absolution of the math is key. 

It breeds an idle stupour, fresh downpours to
Breathe life into a husk, a tree behind my wall. 
And another word is born into the blankness
To bare me fruit that smells sweetly poisoned.
Never enough to kill me, only meant to maim.  
Mother may I sleep away what days are left?
Always to the same. Turn a page, turn a leaf. 
There is no rest, wicked, only another melody. 


22 October, 2014

All My Falling

All My Falling

It would be so easy, but so far from painless. 
Engulfed in myriad frustrations, protestations. 
To what victor goes my spoils of war at arms?
At arms length, always and forever, and never. 
Statued tearful ironies, won battles, lost war. 
To become sour on the mind but taste sweet. 

To want so little, and encompassing oblivions. 
I so need and have no room to want of need. 
Nor for any, ne'er do well, in this well of pitch. 
All for lacking, wanders too far off thin edges. 
It becomes a shame and a shameful heathen. 
Grows weary of all she has let a rain wash in. 

A whitewash pane, fogging pains of glass and
All to stare at here; the grim imaginary favour. 
Sunlight dance on bare metal, but rust eaten. 
Twirling, swirling, fevered madness, not mine. 
To sleep through one image, to waken others. 
No words, no voice, no concession thereafter. 

Exists askew a world, to walk a void between. 
To hear, see, to know it still, be still my hands. 
In terror I pierce through; its terror freezes me.  
Its so cruel; my need to want, and daring drift. 
To push through and I find the daylight coldly. 
To fall away even in pain of all that of nothing. 

What forces wish to meddle in my make up?
Where one hands favour, one breeds my toil. 
Where steady made this mine, pain casts off. 
Where have they placed my leave, I want this. 
I steel my bungling, and recede to steal away. 
Both make light of a leadenly, jagged retreat.

And its all sand dunes to begin with, all of it. 
Were I to fall further, I should sink beneath it. 
No hope therein, none so more in thereafter. 
Its varied mirage is nothing more, not for any. 
Empty handed, holds my heart of all my dark.
I know it must be.  I hear you tell of my woes. 

I must stand back, regarding them so coldly. 
Its much more than any might stand a weight. 
I'm none but splinters to the likes of them all. 
And those in the circle where I danced, blind. 
Memory serves to sever through my trusting. 
Empty handed again? Empty handed always. 


14 October, 2014

What's Good?

What's Good?

The rain had moved in, settled, down poured,
Tomorrow's forecast, much the same as this. 
In a moment though, momentary lapse, word;
I found a sun, or perhaps you carried it here. 
It will wax or wane, who trusts a weatherman,
But it matters, if only to you; shapes meaning. 

So we built a chain, first one letter, then word,
strung together brushstrokes, something new. 
Becomes a painting no one else sees, but we. 
In folds of grey, it becomes blinding at times!
It cannot remove it, but it can eclipse for now. 
For now; all I ever wish, what you always give. 

Grey becomes tired, sleep a spell; leaves me. 
Jagged round the edges but good for a smile. 
This is where the days go, down a black hole,
But sucks down the light too, and we keep it,
Sometimes to ourselves, sometimes to them. 
Even if it is fleeting; tomorrow is a new grey. 

None else hears the intricacies of good, too. 
It amuses me, like your silly puzzles for you. 
There's no face value, even as values a face. 
You always rise, even as I speak in raindrops.
I become topple-prone, but you lean against. 
Backwards tug of war in words and phrases. 

Your turn, spin me tales of windows or woes. 
My turn, hear my flustering fault lines through. 
Turn prisms to it, trade me a wave, gives rays. 
It is good; tomorrow to be was, but not now. 
And becomes energy; skull a sounding board. 
To let sleep, lain in the crook of today's smile. 


12 October, 2014

Pick the Window?

Pick the Window?

Why must we dance upon shards so often?
Would you have the years be all for naught?
The weather of your face, so unpredictable. 
All I can do, let the clouds roll over and past. 
There is nothing beyond this, my tiny window. 
There are fleeting few minds that touch mine. 
How can it be easy, blinding your eyes to me?
You'll not have to raise a hand to leave marks. 

Pound for pound, the air pressure drops off,
I cannot catch my breath, or stop the rains. 
You claimed, though claims now falsely, I...
Am barely here, never be your centre again. 
I've taken to back seats in my reality, empty. 
No truth in the vocabulary for the likes of me?
When I'm hurting you, now lends your anger,
And when slowly dying, meets to indifference. 

Is this the eternity our souls will be sharing?
To compliment a clock rather than ourselves?
Never to see a day with you, or night with me. 
What sharing of this continuum to be tainted?
The cost of all we've built billed to weight me. 
Can barely see any longer, the grey is so cold. 
The window mocks my savage anguish, and I
Have no recourse to the obstacle course now. 

I know the shape of my own grave, my love. 
And my tombstone will bare you to its centre. 
So many other faces to rim the edges, but lo,
You were always the centre for mine.  Without
You, I'd have melded into the chaos long ago. 
Even as it crawls o'er my flesh, I think of you. 
This beauty is fleeting, but once held magics
of a world, so I slip away on thoughts of you. 


Pick the Door?

Pick the Door?

Can't we take this hurricane outside please?
It has been an earthquake, slowly, but surely. 
The slow motion landslide builds momentum. 
Soon enough we'll both be buried, or is it me. 
I'll carry forth the rain, you'll take the thunder.
Is as it always was, only bent by apocalypse. 

Which one of us becomes puppet for today?
In truth it is both, always both, don't you see?
No, my work was too clear, much too precise. 
Now I'm to pay king's ransom for my sanities.  
No good deed to go unrewarded; my cell, sir. 
I've no need for keys, no point to the leaves. 

Might hand me a shovel, best to dig my own. 
Less confusion of intentions, of machinations. 
I know of love and loyalty, perhaps more so. 
You want to make it be me anyway, oh runner. 
I've given you all, still you'd have me a villain. 
I'll not oblige you, let me see your dirty hands. 

Your loyalties were always tarnished and yet,
You still wanted to hold this platform with me. 
I begged you, pleaded you to run than abuse. 
Was it a lie? Was it cowardice?  Deflections?
Is this really all its worth?  Ask me yesterday,
I'd have defended you to the death; disbelief! 

I have no faith left to spare, having stolen all. 
You've made sure of it, my choices are clear
and clearly you; unaccepting of the evidence. 
You would force my hands to save your sleep. 
I'll have none of it, promises broken for both. 
If a push is all you have; rather I would swing.  


Agonised Descent

Agonised Descent

She continues down her slow descent. 
Its an achingly slow motion catastrophe,
And it has us tilting maddeningly along. 
She wants us all to suffer with her, too. 
She always wanted us to suffer for her. 
Her will is so spiteful, its too engrained. 
It is a program that runs on an autopilot.
Its easier to lie for its more painless than...
Except she's beat us in the face to prove. 
She wastes; time, love, she wastes away. 
She is only shadow now, for the love of...
She's been gone so long already and yet
She breathes, and speaks, teases us with 
her body, it feigns a life, but checked out. 
How much longer before it is finally over?
I grieve the loss every day, and so does he.  
And she continues speaking, and breathing.  
She was always darkness, but still she was. 
Now its a whisper, her whisper, my whisper,
I am still the captive of her every memory. 
It will be so because she has none to spare. 
Please, choose one or none; I beg please. 
I can't tumble down your rabbit hole again, 
I barely made it back again on the last turn. 
You always loved it when we did beg you. 
I will beg to cater if you will drink up, eat;
Eat me, drink me, to love you so kills me. 
To hate you kills me more, so I say please,
If you ever loved any of us then pick now. 
Let us finally have closure, and be at ease.  


07 October, 2014

The Door or the Window

The Door or the Window?

I have opened the door on a storm front, but
Its thickness weights my soul into the ground. 
It could grind me to dust, burn me to cinders,
As if to eat me alive if I take my eyes off of it. 
But in my weakness, it is to my fight or flight. 
Tis not choice, it is feint by unsteady means.

And I have to ratchet the screw, little by little. 
Drive it home bit by bit, and fear of aftermath. 
What of me when the threads are bored out?
To strip me down to bare bones is no option!
Yet here we sit, and I begin my slow collapse. 
You beg to comfort but drive me in too deep. 

What of an outside world, tell me if forbidden!
What too of this frenzy?  You pull me into you
As to bore into me and offer to spare, but no. 
To destroy me slowly, or to deconstruct me, I;
I used to know an answer, worse; to question.
What's left to salve a sorrow, meant  to keep?

And I could scream, but none to hear but you. 
It was a gentle trap, held with no grain of salt.
Now the vice spins closed upon my shudder.
Too much of you within to do without, to die. 
And all is already lost, so to be still and weep. 
Close, I feel it coming, love.  I die last, for you. 


06 October, 2014

So Swiftly Tilted

So Swiftly Tilted

So, what is the new game we play, my dear?
Sometimes it seems yellow, sometimes blue. 
Sometimes tinted thinly red round the edges.
And sometimes light is swallowed in a black. 
Sometimes the tables tilt and I lean far away,
And sometimes am only wayward in protest. 
Then flip though; you, sometimes I can't say. 
Do you come forward or slip away, my dear?

What so frightens you? My curiosity waxing,
With the ebb and flow of your shaded eyes. 
What's mine is given for you, if it would stem. 
To know so little, but feel as to feel so much,
And seem to scream in whispers, encodes a
Silence; to masquerade a confusion as joy. 
I'd have you near, to be a dear and my laugh. 
Wishing wills to bend your ear, but also mine. 

The give and take, ours, a dance of madness
As to know I pay in kindnesses, as you give. 
When you are so eager to share the void for
What time affords, is as wills can allow carry. 
Take any that stages yellow, stemming blue. 
I'd have you black too, just do not see blind. 
I am not just for a joy, I'd have a sorrow, too. 
With all you have, what so little I handle you. 

I can carry silence so you may tell me peace. 
I'd wallow willingly of a trench to ease you by. 
Give me something, or take what you need, I
Am for you, well as for any who'd refuge here.
I just don't know the lyrics yet, but teach me. 
I'd build a library to hear by, but haven't tools. 
It is important, it is as it needs, and means to. 
Shaded by a lingo, to will safety as it can be. 

And all of this for sake of silly dance; sit here. 
Breathe this air, to watch the clouds with me. 
Give me this black, you've seen my jaded red. 
Knit out the blue to me, so I may dye it yellow. 
We can let the world turn, greens and browns. 
Sometimes its to paint pictures, or spill paint. 
But remember the game itself, finds purpose. 
To make the most of you, and for you by me. 


05 October, 2014

Glass Ceiling

Glass Ceiling 

It turned into a sinkhole, only it refused me. 
Instead it sank into the middle and settled. 
There is none who should have use for this. 
Should have been me, should have been,
Should have filed it into archives for good. 
There is no oxygen for me to breathe here. 

And the deeper I can fall, the colder it gets. 
And the longer, means my terminal velocity. 
Its the car crash at the end she would seek. 
Meant to feign but fool; shows despondency. 
They all see my weakness, and weaknesses. 
I tried to cut the power, tell me why I cannot. 

I do not want any of it, its all too thin, ebbing. 
It only humours me upon this sacred soil, but
Ground tremors and pit of stomach quakes. 
I wait to fall through the glass beneath me,
With bated breath, with all hope I have left. 
I have no interest in a glorious exit, just exit.  

In denial of the life itself, in denial of my eyes
And once I can no longer see my own face;
Trigger finger, set the dogs on me, i beg you. 
I want none of the grandiose, no posturing,
I just need to lie down before i hurt myself.
Last look upon all the things quieting to me. 


30 September, 2014

The Comedy of Tragedy

The Comedy of Tragedy

Twas a split second and could have looked away.
Without second thought, without fleeting glance;
If not for words, token gesture, oh, what might be!
Of those chance encounters; often to be unseen.
Of beautiful absences; rarely, to know of anything.
'Tis wonder in not, if I had not found, astonishing.
The edge of rainbows, the light of stars, miniscule.
A second; fork in the road, situational subjectivity.
How did you find me here, how dare I to recognise?
How did such fateful fortune look down to find me?
If I accept I could be heads, then you could be tails.
Perhaps not my gift, but your karmic retribution, too.
In regarding you, I'd be the coin so we two find peace.
Prefer I, receive your light, than you of my dark deeds.
Digging crystals buried in fields of shimmering sand.
A comedy of the would be tragedy, gift of immensity,
I am nothing of worthy, for this misguided pleasantry.
But be ungrateful? No, more so for this than anything!
Kindred spirits are not born so, it is learned tranquility.
If creation is to equal, to come by you, simply amazing.