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.

 

 

 

Chopping Block.

Once I,bowed,
my head down,
and I,
at long last
really looked…
through and passed,
all the rest,
at the ground,
my body’s distress,
blocked out,
the noisy sounds,
the hive buzzing,
crowds humming
shouts coming,
from all around,
head swimming,
thoughts shut-down…
the dark of night,
the flash of light,
forcing open eyes,
I was surprised,
at myself,
with what my eyes found,
a shock,
still felt,
within me now,
heads scatter the ground,
trumpets blaring,
The chopping block,
once a daring,
reddish-brown
its surface wiped down,
all scrubbed off,
blood-free and clean,
of the guillotine,
…somehow.

Thrown.

The thoughts,
are the same,
as what they’ve,
always been…
the uneasiness,
steady lingers,
in each pore of,
my crawling skin…
the hatred,
still grows,
to spill blood,
from my nose…
forced perceptions,
well imposed,
self-deception,
in overload…
the plan,
now unfolds,
adding more heat,
to the coals…
the signs,
have been here,
in a language,
crystal clear…
the nights,
have been darker,
and absent of fear…
the truth,
shall appear,
the lies too,
have no fear…
the curtain,
has now closed,
the padlock’s,
been thrown…
the desire,
has left me,
in darkness,
and, alone.

Ashes to Dust.

Somewhere is a hallway lined,
by door upon closed-door,
each one leading to,
its own room full of lies,
boxes stacked up four high,
and color coded to the eye,
the naked eye sees right,
and someday, somebody,
will discover this place,
set off an explosive device,
to open up each doorway,
to be told every herein lie,
to be snowed,
to have the wool,
pull back over those eyes,
to be plowed,
mown over,
set on fire,
and then left alone to die,
in this hallway that’s burning,
in this place full of lies,
there’s no escape,
from what we choose,
to believe to be right,
only choice left is to embrace,
the flames,
the blazing light,
as the discoverer renders,
the discovery statement,
ashes are tendered,
before a gathered crowd,
only to be poured,
onto the dirt floor,
to the ground.

Stand Tall.

Remember when you were small,

a future that made no sense at all,

hovered over your head all the time,

covered the dread too vague to define;

then the puzzles to Life seemed to multiply,

came the fizzle of fight in the blink of an eye,

lovers come and go without any preference,

scraps for the Scrapbook without significance,

days stack higher in a pile with Father Time,

nights drag heavily through the oceans cried,

Remember the day that you began to see,

how the world functions in all actuality,

remember cutting your lip on the brim,

and it dripped as you sipped at a future so grim;

these moments afforded no gracious subtly,

that slap in the face somehow still stings me,

the universe has its own separate itinerary,

and cares little for you and even less for me.

Full of Guts and Seeking Glory.

We had spent all of ‘eternity’,

as we both knew the word to be,

swaying in time to a ticking,

the archaic music of a dying breed,

a mixture of feelings,

stacked up to the ceiling,

the shift in direction so subtly,

akin to the route of my thinking,

I define what is the lonely,

unyielding and unbending,

I despise my own tale’s ending,

tired of telling the story,

full of guts and seeking glory,

I will seek for all my days,

I will break for my own sake,

you can’t console me,

you won’t be able to hold me,

I seem to slip on through,

no stitching remains rip-free,

tears up and along the seam,

those same old railroad tracks to my dreams,

I shake awake too late to warn you,

we’ve already gone,

you and me.

Apocryphal.

What’s a young life that’s been checked and abused,

just naturally expected to someday evolve into?

Is it possible that most people don’t have a clue?

But then, how could they feel the fit of my shoes?

It seems probable that those who life’s been good to,

with the spring in their’ steps as they walk down the avenue,

will each live and die miles from any Life that is true,

without walking the line down hard times, blind to virtue.

Because, what’s an old girl supposed to do,

at the appearance of that elusive “moment of truth”?

When the truth doesn’t seem to at all recognize you,

and instead, fills your head and keeps lying to you.