Roaming the Hallways.

 

These are things:
hidden meanings;
soundly maintaining
in between –
the likes of you and me.

The same goes for anybody:
structured similarly;
that functions remotely
close to –
any likeness to Yours Truly;

It becomes impossible to see:
your side of anything;
my heart does not hear or speak
the obsolete –
language of a Hollow King.

I ride lost in loss and strife:
the chaos of a star’s dying light;
the haunting of a dead man’s life
but why –
must you roam the hallways at night?

When I cannot comprehend:
the commands that your faded voice sends;
across the emptiness of the long-forsaken
echoes within –
the spaces and places of the ill-spirited gardens.

I cannot answer then:
a single one of a hundred questions;
the dialect has tumbled over the edge of extinction
you win –
but a world where you’re happy is hard to imagine.

Swan Dive.

I do not completely, and in every way fear you –

Not in the way that he threw a curse upon me to;

I still get warmed up by that appeal, so real and true;

A truth he failed to forever ruin with shades of black and blue.

I’m not so afraid of you – that I have no tendencies, no intrigue;

My body yearns for good sex to magically collide with me;

My brain gradually accepts and digests my life’s reality;

It’s a string of unknown variables: somehow bound to my own destiny.

What I find in a mirror – won’t let my brain truly perceive;

Along with so many pieces of my own history,

I’m a toddler again without a reason to believe;

My environment feels so profoundly abstract and obscene.

The good and the bad – patches of skin: paisley and plaid;

I spent so many tear drops that I now wish I still had;

To cry over the stabs at my womb and the kicks to my head –

There will be time to be held “hostage” when I’m dead.

Unrealistic, sadistic, chauvinistic lovers –

Sociopathic in the street and Pornographic in the covers

But then again, my position in the dark-lit corner;

Not really caring if you do or do not choose to stroll over –

I survived the same ways as anyone else alive;

I can only convey the things that my spirit and soul imply;

I have accepted the truth and jumped over the side;

welcoming the Unknown through a perfected swan dive.

Envenomed.

I see it slithering its way to the spot where I stand,

from a distance, with persistence it knows where I am;

 

I know it’s after any remaining peace of mind,

a new disaster if I fall for its lullaby this time;

 

it has this way of coiling tightly about my feet,

ratcheting and squeezing the life out of me;

 

it whispers the things I dream someone might say,

it tickles the most secret parts of my brain;

 

I see it slithering its way back onto my scene,

from whence I sent it packing for behaving cruelly;

 

trying to maneuver a snake-like body in ways,

that go by unnoticed, without causing any waves;

 

I keep trying to run but I can’t claim any real ground,

like a clown-house with warped mirrored walls all around;

 

like the jingling of bells – that sweet tinkling noise,

the rushing of wind and the river’s raging voice;

 

I see it slithering through sand, grass and snow,

it’s on my heels wherever I think to cleverly go;

 

I don’t want it near me, to touch me or hear me,

this snake they call “Love” lives too venomously.

Night Terrorist.

I don’t know,

what it means,

I don’t recall,

too much at all,

all that I know,

upon wakening,

both fists in a ball,

afraid of everything,

the walls feel like,

they breathe on me,

eyes are blurry,

skin is clammy,

a revival of buried things,

from a past most terrifying,

I can’t run or hide,

and I can’t scream,

he’s there searching,

out there lurking,

disfigured and bloody,

undead and muddy,

with a blade that keeps flashing,

at that moment,

another layer of torment,

I am sickened by the scene,

as I know deep down,

with certainty,

that eventually,

he will come find me,

slash his shiny blade,

right through my airway,

and there will be,

at least for me,

no way to escape,

this same old crime scene,

same old tragic psychopathy,

a crimson crown,

trickled down,

my face, but I feel no pain,

and I steadily drain,

terror from my severed veins,

my memories,

washing heavily,

down the gutter again.

 

 

 

Not In My Kitchen.

It’s hard to try to summarize, but in short – here it is: my roommates are each intelligent and dependable in his own right; they are unique in unique ways that are too minutely attached to the tiny details of one’s persona to ever take an accurate stock of.

In one of them (“Dice”), I can have complete faith regarding the maintenance of my car, for example; this same roommate would also be the one I would turn to with a jammed rifle, any kind of measurement, centralized heating and cooling issues, and/or the use or instructions for use of any power tool imaginable; I trust this roommate much more so than I trust 9 out of 10 human beings on a very generalized basis because of the years’ worth of water under our bridge as friends without any drama or bullshit at all; he is a kind person with a good heart, in spite of himself; his is also the sole hand that touches the BBQ grill in my household. We share things like The Walking Dead, LOTR, reggae music, good weed and being recluse in common. This roommate is Persian (Iranian) by blood, born in the US to parents who emigrated here during the 1960’s.

The other roommate (“The Orphan”) is the one who I can query at random with a wide ranging interrogative and receive generally sound answers from; he was also my sky-diving instructor, so there’s a very weird kind of trust between this roommate and myself despite our sometimes volatile relationship; he is a surf buddy, a swim buddy and as some of you may remember – got here as my adopted orphan, who was a suicidal train wreck on the other side of the globe when we first became friends. He has been here over 2 years now, has healed his spirit well, got his citizenship, has a good job and a cute little girlfriend; and is doing shiningly in comparison to what he once was. He is also a former French Military Special Forces Paratrooper who has an uncanny comprehension of all things tactical and military. We share things like the Unsecret Death Wish, the ocean, raunchy jokes and coffee in common.This roommate is Corsican by blood (which is French by nationality), raised in Germany, and is a French National with German and American citizenship.

The three of us can happily sit around our kitchen table at a meal and discuss pretty much anything in an amiable, if not jovial, manner. Typically, this is the case. Tonight, things became heated between them during a (take a guess) political disagreement. I came out into the kitchen and said,

“C’mon you guys…really, you’re gonna let Trump or whoever ruin our BBQ?” in a joking tone to lighten the tension (because that’s who I am, the peacemaker), only to find out that they were bumping heads about the tragedy in France.

It was pretty disturbing to me, as I proceeded to listen to the Orphan vehemently arguing his point to Dice with true passion; such a final and decisive reaction he is having that he feels as if it has come to the point where mass preemptive murders via the military would be the only answer. To hear the guy whose military experience has unfailingly spoken truths upon truths thus far say such a thing was deeply unsettling; and left a nasty taste in my mouth.

Around.

You don’t know what my tears taste like,

because your lips do not catch their’ fall,

and the tendency to judge my actions…

well, you’re nobody to judge me at all.

You don’t have a clue what I’ve come through,

I don’t care where you think that you’ve been,

as soon as you’ve perfected your own shit…

maybe, come back and take a crack at me again.

I don’t need a single person’s approval,

and most certainly wasn’t looking for yours,

I know who I am, against your presumptions…

I stand for the steps you’ve never taken before.

People like you only shrink when compared to,

somebody with half of a beating heart,

I’m not sure why it shines so sure from your eyes…

a slice of humanity would break you apart.

Please keep your greed from my scenery,

if you own the slightest hint of a clue,

of how much I despise the habit of lies…

take heed, if you know what’s good for you.

Because, one day you will taste my teardrops,

you will feel the fathoms of my own grief,

despite all of your efforts at destruction and doom…

someday your reflection will look just like me.