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

Life-Darkening.

I recall quite vividly, being thirteen years old and enduring the sudden and shocking reality check of having lost my primary (up to that point, more or less) parent to a massive heart attack that struck him dead instantaneously, thinking to myself things like,

I wish perhaps he could’ve had an illness or something instead of the instant death, selfishly, so that I might have had the time to make amends to him…

 

The amends I was referring to, were for the “tween-aged” shit-headedness that had reared its ugly head during the months leading up to my Dad’s death; a nose ring, big, rock-hard bangs that looked like some tidal wave in my hair, etc.

Anyway, I now can say with certainty that I would not have wanted that for him at all, in spite of the robbery that such a tragic and sudden death of a parent becomes to a young person, I am very grateful that he went quickly and without the suffering that my mom is looking at, and in many ways is already undertaking. When my grandma died, it tolled terribly on my mother, and still does to date – she has never been the same as she was prior to my grandma’s passing. She stopped eating, sleeping, keeping a healthy schedule for herself quickly and completely became a thing of her past, she even wore my grandma’s old lady clothes around as do some widows and widowers. She was altered deeply by the loss of her mother for good. I remember one time as we sat together and she described her sorrow to me, she turned to me at one point and said something along the lines of,

“With my Mom being dead, sometimes, I wish I was dead, too…”

 

It had been that very statement that opened my eyes to the depths of grief and loss she was experiencing. She had lost the remaining twinkle from her eyes, she felt like the world was an uglier, less satisfying place that matched her dwindling existence. Lately, as in like the past six months or so, she has been wrapping up her loose ends to the best of her increasingly limited ability; she has said things to me that represented goodbyes in variously subtle ways; she makes comments about how she probably doesn’t have that much longer left on this Earth, or how she has had a good run. I never took her too seriously, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even begin to entertain such an idea as losing her so soon…I feel like I just got her and have been getting my mom, little by little. As the cards fall, in reality, I have, since those recent sugar-coated conversations with my “healthy mom”, been forced to swallow her mortality whole.

I have been with her every possible moment since we found out she is dying. She is much further along than the original consult suggested; we will find out exactly how much worse it is on Wednesday. She is resigned, I can tell. She actually apologized to me “for dying like this”, which was a heartbreakingly raw moment between us as well. She is in shock, I think, to be honest. She has a warrior’s game face and the pain thresh-hold of an elephant on peyote. But, she has to be in shock…anyone would be – whether she had a notion or not. She sees the child in my face these past few days as we interact, she says. She says she recognizes the terror and helplessness there when I don’t know she’s watching me, but she is.

She called me up the other night (Friday or Saturday – my days are all running together) to say,

“I don’t want you to mourn me like I mourned my mom, Honey…I know it sounds weird, but, I think that’s when I started to die, really; of sadness and loss…I don’t want that for you, babe…I don’t want that at all. I want for you to try and find a way to accept this and be at peace with this, somehow, will you do that for me?…Will you try?”

 I wasn’t prepared for this to be so painful and life-darkening at all.

 

 

 

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.

Robot.

He said that he remembered everything,

the mass of Terra-firma disappearing,

how quickly he failed to fully recognize,

the shores of home under darkening skies,

he said he went yonder and fought for his life,

and the lives of his people and his people’s allies,

he said he never knew what happened to them,

he came home to a family who had disowned him,

people that he loved looked down on where he’d been,

that was his first lesson as a returning veteran,

His heart seems to have always revolved around one thing,

he always had the goal of growing up to be a Marine,

he learned to do things early on that grown men still can’t do,

and he used those skills in the pits of Hell as he rolled through,

it’s no wonder he went back again to the same chaotic war,

the structured life of ‘do or die’ made sense just like before,

the structured life of Semper Fi was back where he’d been hit,

he saw no point in staying where his needs where never met,

I begged and cried when he said goodbye for the second time,

certain that his injuries had somehow warped his mind,

but he knew what he wanted so there was no argument,

one more time, after this time, did he volunteer deployment,

the military made a robot of my childhood sweetheart,

he’d go back even now, somehow, and it breaks my fucking heart.

Stand to See.

Let the marching armies’ raid;

Let the pin be removed from the hand grenade;

Let the silence be no more;

Let the truth outshine the lies from before;

Let them come – and kill everyone;

Let them take the orders to drop the bomb;

Let the hatred and anger over-spill;

Let the cowards bask in thy own will;

Let us take direction from evil ones;

Let us do their wicked deeds all done;

Let the RepubliCrat behind the desk;

Let’s see him stand to see his foolishness;

Let the spider tap that final bead;

Let the sniper take the spider’s heed;

Let the blood of bad and good spill around;

Let the Elders dance to the drumming sound;

Let all things “American” just come undone;

Let us demonstrate how we don’t see anyone;

Let the tellers of lies herald our nation’s demise;

Let me keep my attention on meaningful things.

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

While everything eddies 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 line’s 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 me 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

Troll.

enraged_by_cheeseboy18193

I don’t care
to see you waste
another moment
in this place
as anybody
like in kind
of that twisted
hateful mind
glued into
its own confines
tries in vain
to usurp again
won’t you learn
You’ll never win?
Carry on then
along with all
of your own
drone brethren
dust trail
straight to Hell
in a pre-defined
dramatic beeline
to the next
corner of
the box
you call a mind.

Phantom.

My eyes have opened to see something,

well-hidden in mind and from foresight from me…

fluttering just above my outstretched reach,

a flickering phantom in step with my feet…

My heart began to scream out desperately,

arteries bleeding and pumping explosively…

when I saw in my tear-blurred periphery,

that my own heartbeat had long-ago ceased…

the breaths I’ve wasted in looking for things,

that are not meant to be known to my being…

lost or thrown away every moment in between,

used up all my rations and tried every strategy…

the pages in this section are too destroyed to read,

the floors along this passage are red and slippery,

the memories won’t tap out and fade away from me,

the void is all that harbors any remnants left of me…

intensity that’s bordering the edge of combustibility,

audacity that teeters on the outskirts of insanity…

immeasurable amounts of loss and pain and grief,

pitch dark and deep-frozen within all I’ve come to be.

 

 

 

Numbered.

Like the razor-edged bite of barbed wire,

a brander freshly pulled from a bright bonfire,

a kind of rhythm that does little to inspire,

this heart’s beat to slow it’s lethal rapid-fire;

Like a carrot stick that snaps in half,

an old and dog-eared photograph,

a forgotten joke and forgotten laugh,

a wall built up with a million death masks;

Like an eternity and how it cruelly passes,

killing me slowly as it rolls like molasses,

the bee that stings in the sweetest of grasses,

the ancient tire swing in the pine tree branches;

Like the moment Father Time finally catches up,

when you finally see the empty bottom of your cup,

when everything you’ll ever be is just beyond your touch,

no need to take a number when it’s yours that has come up.

 

On Being Sad A Lot.

Dark sunglasses,
vascular molasses,
paper-thin translucence,
subdermal interference,
veiny designed limbs,
bear the marks of him,
carved perpetually,
onto the skin of me,
and in all likelihood,
my legacy’s no good,
Dark sunglasses,
treasure stashes,
overtaken gradually,
badly mistaken identity,
and, it’s true when they say,
I met defeat along the way,
doesn’t mean I’ll just lay down,
for the circus that parades around,
and let those feet,
stomp anymore on me,
I’ve had enough now,
I’ve taken so much somehow,
time for some peace,
time for some sleep.

A Snow Full Moon Howl to Marcus

Readers,

The Snow Full Moon of February (also referred to as the Hunger Moon), is one that has long represented a time without to the Native Tribes of the North American Continent. Historically, this is a time when food and fire are scarce, and Mother Nature takes over for a while.

Today’s post is my second collection of Full Moon Howls for Marcus “il Canus Lupus”: a beloved friend, lost far too soon.

Even if you never knew Marcus, even if you’re only some random reader who will never come back to my blog again, please join me in sending a howl up to the full moon in his honor, as he was a truly honorable and deserving man of everyone’s good energies – and I can say with certainty that he would have howled for you (no matter who you are), if the tables were turned…

We Miss You, Marcus:

We’re Still Here, Howling at YOUR Fucking Moon!!!

Aw Aw Awhoooooo!

Aww Aww Awwwhooooooo!

lupo

Stand to See.

Let the marching armies’ raid;

Let the pin be removed from the hand grenade;

Let the silence be no more;

Let the truth outshine all the lies from before;

Let them come – kill everyone;

Let them take the orders to drop the bomb;

Let the hatred overspill;

Let the cowards bask in thy own will;

Let us take direction from evil ones;

Let us do their deeds all done;

Let the man behind the desk;

Let him stand to see what’s left;

Let the spider tap that final bead;

Let the sniper take the heed;

Let the blood be spilled around;

Let my people listen to the rattling sound;

Let it all just come undone;

Let us show the world how we don’t see anyone;

Let the lies be finally set free;

Let me keep my fucking sanity.