It starts to crack,
Heavy feet upon
The fainting window pane
That he, weighs himself upon,
Forced and enclosed,
Looking for Houdini’s key
As the twisted arm
Of the counting man
Does not hesitate to tick,
Each crack bellows louder
As he frantically searches, for the exit,
The clocking hand racing
Towards the finale,
Eager to see him fall into the pit,
Where he will be swallowed whole
By the beast that stalks the end,
How can he free himself
From this entanglement?
How does he mold back
The glass that has suffered?
Feverish cracks continue,
Shattering the glass he perched on,
The click of the killer clock
Is gratified.
Think, write, create
You live within the storming forest
Where the leaves, hide
Characters, the taller, and older
The trees get,
Still wild and colorful
Inside the shrinking woodland,
They get harder to see,
As the shrouding thickens,
The tightening fist
Holding the fragile cluster of trees
Excreting out creativity,
Forcing it to walk the plank
Into the lost.
The Nurtured Monster
Stab upon the weak,
Motionless in dirt
As their blood slithers
Around the anthill,
Following the path of the killer
Staining the trail of breadcrumbs,
Charming the blood snake
Into the grave,
He smiles at the grizzly sight
Finding his lullaby,
He has satisfied his lust for death
Between meals of the glutton,
As the parasites eat away
At the fragment of sanity,
Making his craving insatiable,
It claws at his chest
Ripping him from the inside
Until,
He feeds the monster living inside him,
Losing chunks of himself
Sacrificing it down to his fevered seed,
Sprouting throughout him,
Taking control
Never letting go of the wheel,
Fully immersed in the lunacy
Of the poison he ingested,
Jekyll, no more,
He lives in the metamorphoses
That he subjected himself to,
Death is his love,
Death is his drug,
Death, is his beginning,
And it needs to be his end,
A sliver of what was
Climbs its way out of shrouded villainy
To stab weak
Inside.
Rebel for A Cause
I am a rebel,
For I write my mind
And share it with the world,
Or with those who dare
To peer in,
I rebel against silence
And the decay,
I am a rebel with the mighty pen
Nestled in my hand,
Parchment of the wall
That will not come down,
Eternally, a rebel.
The Reasons
She waits for him
On the island suspended
Above the ugly,
She waits for his warmth
To burst above the horizon,
She patiently counts the ticks
Of the echo
That builds upon her anticipation,
Needing him
To calm her soul,
To nurture her dry heart,
She waits in the tundra orbit
Alone, amongst the crowd of stars,
Until he lays beside her,
She beckons for him
So that she can grow,
She does all this
Without realizing her strength,
That it is she
That is needed by him,
She is the picturesque illuminating
The hidden dark,
She stands taller than the
Light reaches,
He can not compare
To what she does to him,
He burns passion
Above the methodical
For her,
She is his reason
For the short winter,
But when she’s gone,
His fire, grows silent,
The lap around the earth
Is to once again,
Find her
On that solitary island
Where she waits for him.
Fight
Find the light in negative spaces,
Turn dark corners to sun bathed arches,
Find the sorrow face in the bleak abyss And recognize it’s presence,
Fight against the dying of art
By sharing your experiences.
Watching it all Fall
Where are you while everything burns?
The disintegration of the visceral
And the annihilation of cognitive,
It’s all being blown away
While you’re caught, in the breast of the beast,
A transformation to wasteland
That has buried the sun in the fog
Of burning brimstone upon perception,
The ticking clock begs for your immersion
As chaos pervades
Beyond the gates that once,
Stood so tall,
It ticks, and ticks
Clawing at the mundane membrane
Concaving into itself,
While you gear no struggle
And flush no tear,
You swallow into filth
Watching yourself murder consciousness,
Still, is the tick
As it digests the pendulum
Breaking away into nothing,
You step out, unsure,
Blankly reaching to grasp
Coming up empty
For the gray, vanishes
And you find a sprocket
Bleeding in your hand,
You’re too late.
Hand in Hand
When slits from life
Cut too deep
We’re found thrusting up defenses
Warriors against the sinking,
How do you crawl out
From a grave excavating?
Her and I stand ready
To take down the beast
Flying toward the castle,
Blade in hand,
Guarding the tower
That leads to our heart,
Crusade against the filth
Of the world that blends into darkness,
Spilling onto the canvas
Collapsing it,
Weakening it’s view,
But her and I press on
With our armor forged in our union
Rising against the oppressive stalk,
Without her, this fight alone
Would prove futile,
Together though, we tread
Above the devour
Of the endless black sea,
Dauntless amongst
The ever present Raven.
The Growing
Deep, in the forgotten,
Stems years of drugging,
Bringing to surface the beaten
That stands on its stiffened tears,
Lost in the collection
And it’s echo,
The growing
Stumps
And bows,
The ashes fall around
Blanketing those underneath
And evading those outside,
Keeping warm the terrors
That keep the watchful one
Perched on bust,
The growing never rests
Suspicious of it’s friends
As he buried himself
Deep within hollow roots,
Its a lucid plane
Beyond it’s stance,
But the cloud’s brew
Thickens the gray,
As it shivers the dry growth,
For the growing
Sees further into the dirt.
She Smiles
She melts the shackles around my heart,
Rips through years of webbing, spun
By the evil doings of Sirens,
She cures the throbbing hurt that blinds a soul,
Illuminates upon the hidden crack
Terrifies away the stalking vultures,
She lulls and races the beats of my emotions,
Setting fire when I need it
And extinguishes too,
She loves me to no end
And I can see that all in her smile,
I’m better when I see it,
I’m home when she exhibits,
I look for it’s shine, in the crowded of moments,
Guides me to the place where I belong.
~Thank you to my love for the inspiration you give me everyday.
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