Cage of Flesh and BoneIt is a prisoner of war, my mind.Locked up in this cage of a carcass, bashing itself against the bars of its cell.While my very anatomy sings of a battle won.This rebellious brain looks and listens, and likes notthe jail it finds itself held in.The banners are the wrong colour, the trumpet's blare in the wrong key.A clash of contradictions, andI cannot help but wonder, in this prison of flesh and bone,if my mind would be content to flee, and find another home?Escape the enemy's camp, and fly back to freedom.To a body of unification,mind and matter as one.Peace without conflict, and whereThe solider will never return home,because he has simply never left.
They Didn't Want to KnowI sit slumped, in this old and tarnished throne, listening to the shrill whine of my nation. I pick at my fingernails as you pledge your loyalty to me, your master and leader, the lord of the lands, and the blah blah blah whatever. Ugh, I get it...you think I'm great, or something.And God, how I hate you.There is absolutely no part of me that wishes you any kind of well. Not you, not your ailing wife, or your starving children...six, I think there were. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention.Please, please don't give me your undying loyalty: I don't want it. Give it someone who actually cares.It'll be better for you, trust me. If you're going to bow forward and pray to God that me and my grace is preserved till the end of time, you might want to find someone who is paying attention.I stopped. Like, a long time ago.Have you ANY idea what's it like up here? Sitting in the most uncomfortable robes, my neck bending under the weight gaudy and godless gold while people screech and hol
Family FeudBig Sister is screaming again.In a torrent of ice and hail, she is fuming and yelling, causing cold to blast from her mouth and through the room. Dear Mother is trying to calm her, to lead her to nap time, but Big Sister is struggling and weeping frosty tears from bright blue eyes. She doesn't want to nap. She's been allowed to play for far too long. It's Baby's turn, Mother shushes, but more tears come. More ice, more cries far and loud, more frosty flailing that sprays snow to the four winds.Big Sister is screaming again.A pair of big, doe-brown eyes peeps around the corner. She watches, in silence, the frigid display her sibling puts on for show. She's all ready: little sun dress bright with the coming blooms, hair smelling like the fresh earth, little shoes ready to walk the garden paths and hands warm like a pale May sun. She was certain...it was HER turn to play now, wasn't it?Big Sister always puts up such a fuss.She peers around the door to the living room, and stares in h
Edge of an EraI find myself at the edge of the sun,in all her flaming, blistering glory.And through all her burnings, her scorchings and fires,I am sad to see her solar flares dim.Throughout those days of golden light,I walked, danced, and loved down her bright orange sidewalk.And as I stare out over the cliff, I can hear her cries rising above her shine.Abuse!, she screams out, wicked, wicked!!And God knows I've been all that and more.A wicked little girl in the throes of a selfish dream, whereTo walk in her rays could be torture,To dance in her light made me cry, andTo love in the fires was sheer madness.And yet, to whom will I crywhen the dark and the cold rise up over the hills?To whom will I beg when the lighthas left early to set itself down in the West?To none but her.I find myself at the edge of the sun.My skin blisters and my hair burns.But my hand is craving her searing touch, and I reach out to her, to thank her,to tell her there is none but her blinding
The Downside of Dreams, chap. 2"John...John, can you hear me?" The expanding and contracting of a throbbing head made the voice about ten time louder then it actually was, and it certainly didn't help the dizziness or hurt."Yeah...yeah, not so loud, mmkay?" John mumbled, clenching his eyes shut at the impending shards of light that would no doubt seek to further his agony. He was aware of the cold floor beneath him, and felt one hand under his head, and another gripping his bicep."You blacked out," the voice said, a little softer this time. John chuckled, only to moan in pain as his head made a forte little drum solo to accompany the laugh. He scrunched up his nose, and tried to move his head."Yeah, I figured that out myself, surprisingly," he muttered, shifting his elbow to try and prop himself up off the floor. However, a hand pressed itself firmly against his chest, and stilled his attempts at escape."No, no, you stay put. You shouldn't get up for a minute or two more, John. Just rest for a minute, ok?
Discourse with the DevilI offered Satan a piggy-back ride today. So up he hopped, and away we went for a walk, and I asked him all the questions I could think of. For how cruel is it to burden the Heavens with all my queries? There must be someone else to talk to.I speak with the Devil. He's bound to have some interesting stories.I ask, “What is love?”And he says “The blood of roses and thorns.”I ask, “Why is the sky blue?”And he says “Because its sadness is infinite.”I ask “Why did the chicken cross the road?”And he says “The crosswalk was painted only in its mind.”I continue to walk. He continues to cling.For his unbearable heat and flame, I find him an easy package to sport. And the weight isn't noticed under the cool of the trees.“Why are the shadows cast from the sunlight?”“Because the darkness needs a place to play.”“Is there a plan for me?”“What does your calender say?
UnevenI am an uneven weave. I have a strange thread count, one that never quite has enough to make a strong blanket, a beautiful throw, or a designer shirt. I have holes that stretch and strain as I am pulled this way and that, forward and backward, twisted to fit the wearer.But, despite my poor quality, my low level of production, I will do my damnedest to make sure you are covered. That there is something to shroud your skin from the wind and the cold, even if my seams are not straight. I will be the cloth that you don when you need that one last layer to chase away the chill of the day, or be the final comfort to an evening where the fire is our only friend, and the moon, our constant scrutinizing eye.I cannot be called pretty, but to some, I am beautiful. I cannot be called the best, but to a few, I am first-class. I cannot be called quality, but there are those who praise my dedication and hold me high on the pedestal for all to admire.I am uneven.And in that, I am perfect.
Sky for a SwingShe sits up, so high.Back and forth, back and forth,Above the crowds below.In awe, they stand, and whisper her secretsthrough the sandstorms that swirl over mountain and mire.She has the cosmos at her fingertips, they say,and the solar system for a swing.What a glorious way to be free!The sky as a swing for eternity!But the eyes, gazing upward, cannot see.The bars will forever chain this bird to her perch,and the cage will always keep the moon and starsfrom tangling in her hair.
The Downside of Dreams, chap. 1John stood.He stood stock still.His lips were slightly puckered. His eyes were narrowed. His entire body was wound so tight it felt like it was going to shatter at any minute.And he could tell that his was making Sherlock just a little uncomfortable.The detective stood in John's flat, in all his trademarked dignity: dark grey peacoat with the collar characteristically turned up, hands stuffed into the deep pockets. A deep blue scarf tied around his neck, a splash of colour against his black suit jacket and white shirt. Dark umber curls flowing in spirals over his head, which he held high and mighty, like he always did. His face stoic and superior, as it always was. Infuriatingly so."At any other time, John, you would be running your mouth when I desperately wanted peace, and now that I expect words, I get silence."And silence reigned still.John's brain was overclocked. This was the man that should have been buried 6 feet under a plot of land in the local graveyard. This was the
a constellation of dimension (haikuwrimo).xxi.snowflakes:grieving skies release anguishto make men whole.xx.the atoms collide,stardust renews itselflight years away.xix.borderlining heaven,you linger amongst the stars --space surrounds you.xviii.a perfect body:the natural satellitewith craters on skin.xvii.a lone star wishesupon a dying human --the beauty of death.xvi.clouds wrestle,thundering when touched --the art of war.xv.like a fallen star,you are devoured in the night --heaven or black hole?xiv.downpour:flowers bloom in my heart.xiii.four billion yearsof atoms treaded --baby steps.xii.you shine brightly likeyou are amongst the heavens --thank my lucky stars.xi.curtains draw back &dreams in colour are revealed --act one: the rainbow.x.heaven weeps --mortals reach to touchshooting stars.ix.string of pearls:sewing orion's belt.viii.wolves sink teeth --fabric of society dripsred riding hood's blood.vii.in the dead of night,the kill of life's left behind --a light year
Renaissance Roses.Years of ivory glory,a time of flowing thoughthow beautiful a world can bewhen it is born againinto the sunny light.Immortality,brought forth from onyx death,necromancy liesin this God bejeweled realm.Alas! the great Hadrianand all his ruby plightsare brought to marble life.Words of verse flowas gracefully as Venice watersand painted, righteous angelslook down on us in oilas we dance amidst the vacant casketsof those who love dealt dead.Ask the boy with silver eyes,from forth a golden goblethe drank in all the blood,the poison mark of every sin.All things glorious and pure,as his lips will surly tell,must slowly wilt and die.
Letter to...hey, motherI'm writing this letter to explain youwhy have I been away for so longdon't worry, I just want to tell youthat it's not your fault,not your faultI didn't want you to see me failto feel as if your struggles have been in vainyour hair is gray and it's not even timeyour wrinkles are getting deeper with every mistake of minehey, guysyou're sick and angry, for all I knowbut please, don't tear the pages before you readI won't blame you, I'll only let you knowthat it's not your fault,not your faultI'll only apologize for being a burdenfor crying and kicking at all the wrong directionsfor suffocating you with my incompletionfor never listening when you were in painhey darling,I'm sorry for never being aroundI just didn't want you to see me all run downit's not that I hate you, in fact I love you a lotand it's not your fault,not your faultyou're not responsible for these awful scarsyou're not the one who killed my prideso what should it be you to suffer by
Flawed Canvas.Your lipsleft watercolorstainsall across my heart.My blood isn't evencrimson anymore,its a pale and dyinglilacthat bleeds onto the floorand paints a pictureof you.
unmadeclean, now, of your diaries;sun cut, singed through the brumepure and guiltless as a virus, whitewithout a needle eye or task tolay into your inner brides, the bentto disturb your wealth of fruit skinsor run my pathos through the calculusand see my dimples rise as underlingsto terrorize your pond face, scold its carefulglass with frost or lunge into your acquiescence,the satin cinch for your panoplies,to make pillows for my wreck.what am i when i’ve no effigy for doubt,no biorhythms to sicken with childish bellows from my song?there is no dormant eggshell to gather up this lossand nothing left from which to birth;if i cannot be of something else,then nothing will become me.
OnceI met Death, once.And he was welcoming.I smelled the bloodas it escaped from my body; as it ran from my wounds.I tasted the salty tearsof which he kindly wiped from my face.I felt his bony hands;and they were like daggers that pierced my skin.I watched as his dark cloakengulfed me into a black nothingness.In my suffering, I waited,waited for his unforgiving clutch upon my soul.I heard his rattling breathas I drew my last.I met Death, once.And I welcomed him with open arms.
ShadowsHer silhouette is beautiful.Her eyes…when she cries are like ice.A face frozen in time.A wonder to behold.She stares back at me with grey pupils.Her brown hair dances in the wind.She tells me she feels dead inside.But to feel dead is alive.Or so I’ve been told…Feeling alone is alive.To feel something is alive.So I don’t push her away.I motion her to come closer.And she doesShe creeps closerAnd closer.Emotionless.Like the object that she is.Like the robot that she is.She tells me that she hates me.I shrug it off. I don’t care.But her words pierce meShe’s good at itLike she’s Ares.But we’re a single being,Whether she likes it or not.She is part of who I am.I am part of who she is.We’re made of each other,We’re made for each other.We see through each other like glass.We understand each other’s darknessBecause we’ve experienced it together.There
HurtThe murmuring...I hear them everywhere.Talking about me, and them...Making me insecure.Laughing...teasing...I can't handle that.They don't know that...I've been bullied by someone I used to know already.I don't want to be bullied by others too...Secrets...they're passed down as I just cry on.I just keep everything to myself,thinking that if I'll just keep it to myself,I'll be fine.Right? "Only rainbows after rain,the sun will always shine again.So you gotta keep your head up."Is my motto.Do you think this will help?That I'll be happy?This helps me realize,that maybe keeping it in,won't help a lot.Maybe. Just maybe,I'm not the only one who has this problem too..
AnxietyMy voice stifled,I’m breathing suffocating air;Lethal it is.Fear triumphed,Obliging submission;I fought,A missile of crimson detonated.My core was bruised,Deformed it is;I slit myself,To ease the pain. (G.L) -anxiety
Polar Oppositesi lay here in solitudedrowning in liquid powderwhile he wandersthrough flakes of mercurymaybe i'm too frozen for him to recover
You've Endured So Many Storms That You Became OneYou have endured so many storms that you became one.Your mother was a tsunami.Her emotions came in wavesand crashed down on you like“this is all your fault”.Her high-tide flooded your basement.There’s water damage in your roots.She taught you how to swim when you were five years old,but somehow you’ve been drowning for seventeen years.You once told me that you hid all the knives in your houseso that the waves wouldn’t carry them away.Your father was a thunderstorm.His voice shook your house so much,I could have almost sworn that you lived by train tracks.His thought cloudsgenerated enough electricity to light up your neighborhood.When his lightning cracked you’d count“one Mississippitwo Mississippi”to see how far away his hand was from your facebefore the friction in his bones was too much for him to bear.You have endured so many storms that you became one.You are an earthquake,and my heart is your San Andreas Fault
StaticI can never leave.Go on ahead.Tell me what you see.No lights, no air, no care.All the reasons now escape me.Insidious, enveloping.Purposeless pain, decayed and failing.My senses are abandoned now.There is a dull ache in my head.It does not speak, only mumbles.Loud and inaudible.It gives no orders, just leaves me stagnant.Stagnant and static.
A Short StoryIn the nursery, he quietly criedA man who was torn from the insideSeeing his son, the first in his lifeThe murderer of his beautiful wife
blowing my teeth out the back of my skullI.we are hynagogic wasteland words, unravelingcorpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasolineII.and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones( i will never be rid of you ).
Serve Heaven or Rule Hell? Teaser PoemServe Heaven or Rule Hell?A War resides within me, what to do with it, none can sayKeep fighting for the oh so glorious side of light, the angels just wish for me to slay,Myself. Yes, I am fighting the other side of me, one that is filled with powerWho does he serve? A being that with every second, and with every hourIs growing, worst off I think he knows that I existAnd it’s not just some random encounter that he could afford to miss.No, I feel….like he knows me far more than my mother will tell.Whether this is my want…or I am being wrapped up in some sort of demonic spellI cannot say, the only thing I can do is continually clash with the dark.So I may not become a part of the holy genocide’s markCreated by a man that has no want to be a dadI can truly say that his actions are quite mad.The actions of insanity, I guess the power that is floating around is to blame.To mass murder your own kind and add more to this heinous flameIs exactly what th
Sadly AloneLoneliness and sorrow were sitting at the parkWhen sorrow noticed it started getting darkSo he leaned down to lonileness and he said"I'm going to go home, and cry in my bed"Loneliness shook her head, and whispered a plea"Just a little longer, would you stay here with me?"With that said, sorrow wouldn't leave just yetThey both sat and watched as the sun began to setThen loneliness said, in a cheerful tone"when you are with me I'm not so alone"Sorrow laughed gently and said with pure glee"when we are together you make me happy"So happiness and friendship sat at the parkAfter the night became very darkThey spoke with each other up until dawnAnd now loneliness and sorrow are forever gone
Artists.Youcan be the painter,paint words on my lips.Iwill be the writerand write kisses on your skin.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stopspewing pretty metaphors at me,for with each elaborate comparison,I feel a bit moredetached from this worldAnd maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,but would you beif you felt like the entire universewas resting upon your shoulders,and someone was just there saying:But you’re stronger than the powerful beatsof a butterfly’s wingsAnd maybe I do need more confidence,but would you exuberate itwhen the part you hated most about yourselfwere the freckles that have speckled your face for years,and someone was just there muttering:They’re not flaws,but rather stars that form constellationsYes, I can’t help but hateall those unrealistic metaphorsyou choose to pelt at me when I’m low,yet the irony is,I know that those beautiful wordsare realistic in your eyes,So I can’t hate you.
MasqueradeIn her new satin gowns, she drowns.A sad and shattered heart bound tight with nothing butcreamy lace and silver buttons.Playing dress-up with the damned.