Chase.

I once told you I hoped that you wouldn’t chase,

the path made by my footprints as I ran away,

not to follow my feet as they endlessly tread,

places called “home” in my paranoid head,

yours used to follow my eyes,

darting about the night skies,

you’d trace a pinky down my cheeks,

trails from tears deemed obsolete,

do not follow my confused insanity,

into the cursed forest of ancient trees,

I’d rather you don’t see me as I mindlessly carve,

indecipherable messages into their’ bark,

I‘d rather that you might remember times,

when I still held a more lucid state of mind,

as I was back when I first asked of you

to someday cut me completely loose,

back when my feet could not yet carry through,

with any of the deeds that I still have to do,

do not falter in those old promises now,

you must override your heart, somehow,

you must stifle the desire you to feel,

to follow me into the darkness of Hell,

I’d rather you carry on in the warmth of the sun,

I want you pick up, dust off and carry on,

all these times, your foolish pride,

had you believing that we were solidified,

but it’s time to defy what we feel inside,

just let go and let yourself bleed for a while,

the loss will fade eventually,

same as my footprints into the trees,

at which you will stop any pursuit of me,

and let me self-fulfill this unwell prophecy.

 

 

 

Thy Will Won’t Be Done.

My wrinkled face
is beginning to waste,
limp body, still hung,
on a squeaky clothesline,
that is tightly confined,
beneath a given thumb,
any part attached to me,
repeatedly gone numb,
neurons firing incorrectly,
missed the target,
subsequently,
my brain feels like,
a bowl of old pond-scum,
the day and night,
continue to come,
Hell or high water,
thy will won’t be done.

Bleeds Black.

The streets are silvery black from the rain
mirroring the darkened space in my brain
yellow streetlights cast a sad, sickly haze
down on reflective, fire-fly puddles ablaze

The drizzly days have been rescuing me
washing away dead layers, torrentially
but then, are the drops of a different breed
fallen from eyes onto wounds that still bleed

No comfort in the faces that I look upon most
no magic left to ponder, no victories to boast
things I once perceived other than “formerly”
along the lines of the former endless possibility

Everything eddies round down the storm drain
into the gutter too deep to be pulled out again
drowned out by the mournfully grey pitter-patter
metallic ting of the O-ring’s half-mass tatter

My heart bleeds the darkest of black from the vein
a shower of droplets to bathe me in exquisite pain
the wind seems to whisper at me of forgotten treachery
the beloved stars feel like they twinkle in my mockery

The drizzly days have seen things slipping away
wound around and bound to drown there, someday
sleepless nights that leave me all directions in my head
I’m gut-shot, and bleeding out the night hours in my bed

Waterproof Makeup.

She should have told you certain things,

like how she hates being on the phone,

how she hates the sound of her own voice,

how laughter makes her stomach ache,

how anything right feels so wrong on her,

how empty and alone she becomes after “good-bye”,

the reason she pays extra for waterproof make-up.

Still Learning.

I got the Adrenaline spin,
not sure
which is the right direction
obscure
the thoughts that begin
to swim
inside my imagination
again.

I do the ADHD thing,
mumbling
heart weighs in heavily
numbing
sweat pours down steadily
panicking
my thoughts race ahead of me
evaporating.

I have scars for all to see,
they fixed me
a return from captivity
a recovery
a horror film slashing
bleeding
just as the final pint
emptied.

I have a heart that’s still learning,
I’m trying
a desire to indulge in humanity
difficulty
to connect with someone like me
a daydream
a baby of Lithium, Ritalin and Dexedrine.

Ultimately.

It was ultimately for naught,

my face tattooed by bird-shot,

an undeniable blanket of doom,

an indefinable pain in the womb,

It was the robbery of things,

my things; weaseled away from me,

stolen from me in my deepest sleep,

secretly spilling the oaths that I keep,

crumbling away the loosened layers,

that block the pathway to my nightmares,

it was the ending of good things,

the increase of physical pain,

our thing just began surely fade,

beyond the recognizable state,

things agreed to in former times,

come back around to materialize,

smacked with back of an outstretched palm,

that threw a desperately driven smoke bomb,

the palm that bears the dead to the tomb,

the palm of the hand you refused to hold onto.

Dribble.

Dribbling down the screen,
separating everything,
a permanent blood stain,
that warps my visibility
A richly colored stream,
dark reddish burgundy,
oozing and seeping
through spaces between
Raining bloody rivulets,
covering all the surfaces,
I am very sure of it,
it’s got me on my knees
Gods help me…
and if they’re too busy,
let the devil be,
the one to answer me.