Left for the Day

The world seems to be mocking me through

This double pane fog, covered by my immobility,

Festering in the inching frost, climbing up my throat,

Drying out, the secreting whisper of warmth,

The sounds emitted by dancing winds, pushing

A blurred island, hosted, by a decaying vampire,

Stretch marks of the swinging pendulum, swoops

A top my brow, cranking closer, as my attention

Bleeds into the veil, softly bouncing

Along the splinter of sanity, so captivating and graceful,

Will she return, as she slipped out through the opening,

The loud hum, of the empty room grows,

Filling my ears, as if I was drowning, gasping

For her, where did she go?

And the outside knows, yet they keep hushed,

As she swings in it’s hammock, keeping her still,

Where did she go?

I lay awake, starring at the flashing light,

Begging the silence to stop, for an echo in my bones,

Where did she go?

Thick strands of her gleam, snuffed out, by the dark,

She’s vanished beyond the stale breath,

Maybe she’ll return with the sun.

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Who am I?

Don’t let a year of imperfections crush you,
It has only just begun, so you, destroy the year,
Stand brave against the wind, and inspire
Your own self growth, but don’t call it a resolution,
Be the person you want to be, the one you hide
From judgment and fear, urging to be seen,
The one you may not have even known,
Discover the pain of expansion, while you create
From your inspiring Muse, perched upon your shoulder,
Ask yourself, who am I?

Conversation With Death

There, untouched by the setting fire,

Gliding, above the trembling lake was this, overbearing

Shadow, approaching me, sitting under

This sickly tree, in the midst of a rolling fog,

As the shadow came closer, it formed a shape

And then, before me, darkness appeared,

But I was not afraid, I welcomed its bleak emptiness,

Yet an enigmatic stillness grasped hold,

Chained me down to the soil, I followed it’s approach,

Until death, rose over, pleased to be in it’s presence,

Huddling softly to its cloak, eager for the finale,

“Waste away, you’re not yet joining the forever tortured.”

It spoke, but it wasn’t audible, I heard death in my head,

Which felt like a blast of jagged chill,

Eating away my insides, as I stared into the hollowness

Peering through me, why has death emerged,

“Why count the falling leaves, and dismiss

The sunset, which begs for your attention,

Instead you loiter at my door, sinking into a stale image,

You’ve allowed an infestation, in through your picket fence,

Followed by attacks upon your house, fallen

Into this swamp, slowly succumbing to it’s drag.”

“It was the only way to move on, to bury her memory,

I rather not have, loved and lost,

Only to walk lost, pretending it was the better

Side of this world’s spectrum,

I believe that it would have been easier, never exhaling

From taking in her sweet scent,

And shattering every broken piece of bone,

My senses taste her sweet vanilla, that drifts

Into my haunted consciousness. ”

“Those shackles, tightly clasped, are of your own design,

Destroy them, and move in through the brume

Out into the perched orchard, as you crane your eyes

To the sullen shores, as the water kisses the warmth

And sizzles, yet you distance yourself.”

“You judge me, thinking I haven’t lived,

Well I did, with her laugh, echoing in my evacuated mind,

And I rather transpire, than search for her unique likeness.”

“One person isn’t a life, when the world is comprised

Of a slew of differences, which is left behind the blinds

That you seem to be lost behind, scratching

At the grave, you’ve unearthed.”

“You stole her away from my heart, and dragged her down,

So yes, I sat here marinating in this melancholic setting,

Waiting, for you,

To display your weakness.”

Within the moment, my hidden blade,

Tucked into my sleeve, reflected death’s fright,

I slashed at death’s open light, killing the darkness

So that I, can assume the mantle,

If you don’t evolve, then you die.

Gate Beyond Return

The sting from it’s breath, encapsulates me, shivers

Of daylight, highlights the mangled gate,

Displaying it’s villainy, slender arms outstretched,

Letting out, what I’ve fought to keep trapped

In the icy depths, only growing stronger, as I forget,

Wrapping its tentacles, squeezing around my throat,

Forcing my eyes, wide birthed, reflecting the monster

Before me, taking me inside it’s domain,

Past insanitys’ far gate, which no mind returns,

Every muscle numbed, as I’m dragged into the void

With my nightmare in the corner, perched,

Swinging it’s stinger like a pendulum,

Casting a shadow, as it passes, through the light,

Slithering closer, and then, emptiness,

The gate shuts, locked, with me behind it.

Blinded

Within her own mind, the world

Is exactly, how she left it, an eroded vessel,

As she became her own empty room, hollowed

By the revolting scenes, highlighted in the flashes

Of immeasurable detestation, and there she floats

Amongst the rubble, her hands stretched out, reaching

Beyond the veil of black, infiltrating the ghost,

Shackles upon her eyes, hides an unclean Era,

A design defect in humanity, a false prophet

For whom, they eradicate for, but who is this savior

That channels themselves into the facade,

Not just a glimmer of their virus, but an apocalyptic

Strain running through Pomplona, ravaging,

The earth, crumbling beneath her,

Tremors, surging through her from the mass panic,

Cries for light from those lost in the shroud

For her, to come and filter out the pain,

But she has absorbed too much, drowning

In violent waters, barely staying above her suffocation,

Until it all consumed her, trampled she still bears

All the affliction of the world,

For everybody knows, that a broken heart, gets blind.

Come Back

The reality of death, is the stalking feeling

You get, the little hairs stand at attention,

And you freeze inside, vanish into the distance,

But somehow, you’ve come back, you haunt,

A ghost story, perched upon its past, what it misses,

Eager to feel it against its bust, to sync with the heart

That gave you a louder drum, which has failed,

Torn and rusted over, but you persist,

Getting louder, squawking until it all shatters,

Yet no one notices, and you refuse to abandon

Your post, ignoring the flaws that tarnished

Your feathers, streamed down, from your black eyes,

You’ve come back, but your ghost is a withered memory.

Other Than I

Time, within the possession of me reaching the far edge

Of the train, has vanished from existence,

As well as the recollection, of this blood stain

That appears, not to be my own, as well as the blade

Carried, in my trembling hand, also bathed in the unknown,

I can hear my heart’s chatter, louder than the metal clanking,

I throw my sight, from side to side, trying to gain a sense

Of what lies behind me, a puzzle, missing its fragments,

As panic, digs it’s talons inside the teetering tower,

I wonder where my mind had slipped to,

Had it betrayed me in my worst moment

Only to awaken me in the dark depths of chaos,

Suffocating in my own narrow gullet, lost inside,

I have to shed this skin, and can’t let myself be seen

As I peak through the crack of the door sliding

Opening wider, with the grooves of the tracks,

Seeing a deserted hall, creeping out deeper,

Into the shrouded gallery, pushing through the shackles

Held firmly, around my entire person, hindering

The way forward, oozing through, to the next car,

Finding a place, to cleanse the black eye,

I get in, and immediately lock the door

And just stare, at myself in reflection, and I’m unrecognizable,

Who is this before me, possessing my heart,

That seems to be moribund, pale, faced with horror

Spilled upon myself, unable to wash it all away,

A knock upon the door, but I cannot find my voice,

The handle rattles, as the knocking continues,

Getting louder, deafening within the stall

As I feel my blood, a fury cooking up to my pulsating mind,

And then it ceases, releases its fist from my throat,

But then I see myself again, pooled in more death,

With the body next to me, with the knife I firmly held

Now driven into a man’s skull, with fear frozen,

My expression is vacant, drugged into a lost fervor,

I make a discovery, hidden within my breast pocket

As I retrieve a wallet, alien to me, also stained,

Inside it I find the owners image, and I recognize

The face, in a flash I see myself boarding

And into my vision, this man appears with a smile,

Introduces himself with a hand upon my shoulder

Guiding me to his quarters, where he rips into my head,

Diving into the recesses of repression, and discovers

My hidden desires, my anger, my violence,

And brings it back to life, I am not I no longer,

And I come back from the cloaked memory,

Studying the sight of me, my eyes, fingers and lips,

Are those other than I, I am now a person of death,

A walking scythe, alluding the fear I once cowered under.

Amongst the Living

She slips into the veil, picking out her outfit

Carefully, peering out from behind her mask

Taking in sight of her facade, her entrapment,

To lure the already damned, into the dismay,

The devil, finding the crooked outstretched hand

Searching for a glimpse of light in the stormy alley,

But only she bears shelter for them, inviting

Them out from the oppressive rain, and into the orchestra,

All the lost souls, sitting with their errors as the score,

The hum of the emptiness spotlights over their heads,

The devil peeks out, standing amongst the living,

Tapped the batton, for attention, and forced their scream,

Salivating, at the release of their fear, into the air,

She feeds on those floating orbs, absorbing

Their strength, sucking them all dry to ash,

Wisked away, with a gust of her whisper…

“You’ve been emptied”

And all those, who once were, shattered apart

Sprinkling through the depths of a continued fear,

While she, the devil, continues amongst the living,

Soaking, in the middle of the soon to be lost

On the ballroom dance floor, in front of the full orchestra.

The Eternal Wasteland

Have I reached, the end of the abyss?

Thick, dry humid air, as if I’ve decended

To the highest low point, swallowing it’s pungent breath,

All that once was, has been depleted, spilling sand

Through broken fingers, and watching it weather away,

I dredge my mind, only to unearth the insipid spider,

Feeding off the random streaks of light, snuffed

Into the outer limits, beyond what I can consume,

There is no death, only the stale walk

Around the repetitive process, which melts my strength

And locks me, into a sinking standstill peering

Into the void, leaving behind the evacuation,

Even as I hear the fire, cracking in the distance,

Separating will, from defeat, it becomes an added strain

To the constant emphatic emptiness, dawning

Doubt, feeding it my own thoughts, that expand its stretch,

My mind bears it’s incompetence, through the stutter

Of my empty page because my hand won’t move

The eager pen gracing the openness, that haunts me,

The way forward seems so daunting, all because the horizon

Has been lost to me, for all there is, stews in this wasteland,

So is this the end?

Have I done all that I can?

I fear for my mind, that’ll go mad from wondering

Inside its own den, stuck within the familiar landscape,

Bricked up under the shadows that creep from the past,

Am I doomed to this Purgatory, awaiting no end,

For all that I once held tight, is now flickering

Way beyond the rattle of the gate, and I, a spectator

To life continuing around me, suffering from

The dread of the foreboding, which overpowers hope,

Existence of any inclination of an escape,

Back into the spirited, slips past me and into that terror

I can’t camouflage from, the wasteland is my open casket,

Laying my mind deeper into the murky world,

Nothing left to say,

Nothing left to inscribe,

I’ve told all my stories,

Until I reach this world’s end.

Power

An empty throne, at the back of a deeply dim room
Simply occupies the splintered faith, tainted by doubters,
They chase out belief, within themselves, holding torches
To the light, that they say deceived their expectations,
The town has gathered beneath the throne room’s window,
Shouting death, of the praising rumble, now hear
The thunderous rebellion, falling on a vacant seat,
A runaway, finds their own way in masquerade,
Pass the hunters pounding on the door, an illusion
To them, as they herd together on the tiptoes of defeat,
The love that faintly drifts the halls, vanished in the con
Of the people’s hearts, and now fires erupt throughout,
The throne, still holds its ground, elegant in the dusk,
A facade, to gently brush them off the scent of their crowned,
But where is the powerful one now, that they were unveiled
To the rotting promise, exposed by the squawk
Of their own actions, that they fear to answer for,
An admittance to their own hypocrisy upon the guillotine,
The insurgents demand their blood back,
But still, they yield before an empty throne mocked by the raven
Perched, squawking at the broken, you will bleed for another.