Downshift.

We had drawn up this road map so grand,

the highlighted route to the ending we planned,

the flutter of cards as they dropped out of hand,

the calling of Gods in dreams we understand;

poor odds follow close, wherever I am,

fleeting as granules of time-whitened sand

fickle and pickled in the spices at hand,

between promise and oneness,

that same ol’ ominous numbness,

parlor tricks performed in a deserted land;

peopled with embodied nothingness,

void of all the sugary fluffiness,

where you are is ever where I am,

when I’m asleep that’s how it stands,

I dig in the deep with my polished hands,

driven mad by a fiendish hologram;

dropped from the attached strings,

to your heart’s working guillotine,

you never came back for me,

left me miserably, deservedly

just as I am.

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.

Grandeur.

I have been,
listening…

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,
indeed,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,
surprise!

Nonplussed…
it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,
ear-ringing,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,
memorized…

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

Snap.

There’s no pattern to the trend
That teeter totters without end
No method to a madness that mends,
The sadness between every exhalation,
I pull, you push.
You’re slow, I rush.
There’s nothing happy in the end
To go and slap me in my face again
No loss of sleep, no skipping heartbeat to maintain,
No giggling, no tickling the inkling in my brain,
I give, you take.
You bend, I break.

So What Do You Do?

What do you do when the knowledge finally seeps through?

Can you enjoy your freedom with the enslaved watching you?

What do you do when you have too many mountains to move?

Will you dirty your own hands trying to dig up the truth?

Can you worry about only the things that you pick and choose?

The trivial nuisance of something like gum on your shoe,

the convivial looseness of someone who means nothing to you;

What do you do when the call has rung loudly through?

Can you hurry out and scream about things you must do?

Will you fizzle out and fade away like so many before you?

What do I do when it’s time to reach out and grab onto,

The material rips, my fingers stick with pin pricks of VooDoo,

the unusual fits that linger and stick in the thick of the shit you do.

Damaged Goods.

You say you’d never want to be
part of the darkness that envelopes me
You announce in your full capacity
How you’d hate to make me a memory

You mark up my skin with your teeth
You freeze time to sit with me silently
You say you’d never want to see
A future now, if it’s without our thing

And the closeness leaves a sting
My face burns and my ears scream
that future flashes in dashes and smoke rings
another party self-crashes to ashes, smoldering