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.

“Life Goes On”.

Way back when I was just barely thirteen
and Death stole my father quite suddenly
a stinger stuck in and burrowed beneath
I learned something then that never left me
how during the stages of trauma and grief
people say the stupidest words robotically
How “Life will go on” or how “Time will ease“,
Such a blow to a child’s sense of stability…

I recall the way all tried to describe so emptily
how things wouldn’t feel as unreal for eternity
how things would settle back into normalcy
how the grief-stricken child would heal eventually
And each had been right about just one thing
in the context of my quickly evolving reality
each time they grasped straws in my comforting
by telling me ‘Life would go on’ still, for me…

I wonder if there was even the slightest inkling
behind such words that I heard rather constantly
that the thirteen-year-old was, indeed, listening
to the messages shone through such faked sympathy
this was how I learned the lesson of superficiality
by being forced to listen to such hollow human beings
the loss of my only parent had marred me spiritually
scarred my soul, shut down parts of my heart permanently…

Yet, in the eyes of those outside my immediate family
I recognized that element that darkens all humanity
that need to keep the world painted in a happy scene
at the expense of those whose former world is darkening
and so, today, if I am faced with a friend in like mourning
I will never offer empty words in attempt to ease the suffering
I remember all too well: the affect that such bullshit had on me
when my present, past, and future were stripped away so suddenly.

An Ax in the Moon.

Above the planetary jet stream,
asunder, and bellowing,
I hear the heavy dripping,
a reserve blood supply, spilling,
I feel the blackness choking,
so much misery, throttling,
I feel the years behind you,
that drag a weight of fading loyalty;

Above the universal hollering,
beneath, and woven intricately,
I sense the teardrops pattering,
I see through vision, gone blurry,
I see the darkness encompassing,
misdirected, ill-detected feeling,
I feel the loss ahead of you
awaiting your every personal move;

Below the deepest pit of humanity,
struggling to surface, violently,
I hear your poetic story-telling,
I know each word before its ring,
I see distances between, widening,
I see the fractured lines, separating,
I know your most secret of things
I feel every pump to your heart, darling.

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.

Refeed.

IMG_20110430_154522-1

“Whatever floats your boat”, so they say;
go on, pick a direction and float it away –
there’s nothing that gets me more enraged,
than to be forced to read –
your lust-dusted refeeds
different name, same face of greed;
such a painfully obvious approach,
to see which bidder pays the most;
all while bumping gum,
unsuccessfully playing dumb,
over the cracks and the crumbs
spun with your own identity.

“Whatever sinks your pickle”, goes the word;
One of the most warped statements I’ve ever heard –
go ahead and sink, while I fly like a bird,
such a fitting thought –
considering how you are not
a thing that you claimed you were;
Such a quick-handed draw,
to salt the wounds that you saw;
all while carrying on,
talking shit all day long,
but what have you got?
besides an arsenal of rotten sugar.

March to April.

Take me to the ocean’s edge;

bury me there in your kisses,

so darkly lit at the corners,

the smoothness of your mouth…

the snapping linen of windy echoes;

Tell me your most hidden truths;

confide in me your every secret,

so sprinkled by shimmer,

the peach fuzz of my skin…

the slapping palms on my ass cheeks;

Read to me from your Book of Poems;

find me safety beneath the voice,

belonging to my Saline Ghost…

the Guardian of my ears and lungs;

Visit me when I sleep and dream;

teach me such righteous divinities,

by one likened to a premonition…

the breaking of a titanium chain-link;

Promise me that you will stay;

poised at my side like you are now,

so collected to balance my insanity,

the ease by which you forgive…

the ripping up of nails from a coffin’s lid;

Lie to me if it means forever;

bury me beneath what you so choose,

so vulnerable to your many strengths,

attentively absorbing you like a sponge…

the infusion of some good in my life.