Her Little Eyes

She sits, and spies out her window, into the lives of strangers,

Absorbing their day, their routine, becomes her obsession,

Enhaling all that she sees, and files it away, deep, in her mind,

She rummages through, picking apart all the lives

That are absorbed by her little eyes,

Their dark intimacy, hers to rewind and play

To her desires, outlining all these private events

As they unfold before her, never blinking, or flinching away,

Fully vested, as her neighbors proceed, with their reserves,

Unsuspecting of her eyes, as she blends, into the shadow,

Her only ally, the only thing, aware of her isolated existence,

Cloaking her, in it’s safe embrace, as she pushes

Further into it’s depths, losing herself to the shadow,

Nothing is left behind the curtain, as her eyes pierce through,

Studying, a couple separated by a wall, but in the same domain,

No longer their moments, as her eyes invaded

The space between them, which feels so cold, held

In her vision, surveying their constricted movements,

A man and a woman, sharing a story with her little eyes

Without even realizing, how their secrets, are displayed,

The man, sunken into the couch, while the woman slaves,

Leering at the man, her shrill voice piercing his serenity,

Minute after minute, she breaks the silence, and his fist gets tighter,

Gripping onto his anger as best he can, following the drips

Of sanity, that echo out, while those little eyes sparkle,

Gleefully watching the cracks spine up the narrow alley

Of their reality, they rushed into their unstable fusion,

Those eyes watching the man struggle, his temper climbing,

His own eyes begin to stammer, not realizing the knife,

His rage blinded him, he ignored her to the point her own rage

Took control, showed her where her serenity lives,

Took the blade she used for all those frustrated meals,

Ended them, by ending him,

Never have those little eyes, stared so immensely,

Haunted, by her own spying, she’s kept frozen,

Unsure if she should act, afraid for her hobby,

To the world, this all would be an aberration,

Not in her eyes, she never hurt anyone living in others,

But how much, can she trust the shadow, keeping her hidden,

Stuck in the moment, that shattered the harmless,

She draws the shades, pulls the shadow closer,

And finds herself empty, next to the woman still holding the knife,

Her little eyes grows weak, taking with her, all the stories

She’s stolen, while losing her own shadow to her own greed.



It surrounds us, marinating, in our ignorance,

As we proceed unaware, detached from cognition,

Strung out, in the oblivious, unsuspecting of our ghost,

Clutching, at the dried up leaves, playing in the snowing ash

Until you’re alone, telling yourself, it’s familiar,

You’ve grown into this storm, and become accustomed

To the edge of the moment, waiting to be tipped over,

Hanging on as the ground withers, blends into the fall

And you’re done, regrets crowd the space, you’ve once occupied,

But no matter, there’s plenty to follow those hackneyed mistakes,

Drowning their sadness in shallow waters, black and cold,

Why do we all have our epiphany, when we’re in waste,

Gasping for relief, while they’re burying themselves,

Forcing deliverance further away, for we’re our punisher,

It festers beneath our skin, keeping us a slave

To the rot, as we are all caught in it’s daunting tangle,

Yet, we ignore it all, until it’s deafening growls

Strikes us still, looking back at the missed captures,

Finding ourselves within the break between seconds,

Scared, of who we see reflected back at us, a stranger,

Yet we recognize this shadow, it’s been perched

Above our heads, whispering distractions, leading us to dark,

Deeper into the gullet, until we’re withdrawn,

Alone, telling ourselves, it’s our fault,

For we truly are, our own, worst enemies,

Our focus is on the rest of the world,

That has already passed judgment,

As we carry out our own punishment of self doubt.

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?


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.


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.


Dance into Death

The still of the moment quaked, within her already 

Convulsive body, starring at her ripped apart masquerade, 

Stuck in the throat of the hourglass, gasping for warmth 

As the stabbing chill, trickles down her curved spine, 

The cloud within her grasping onto purity, polluting 

Her fading heart, once beat with ferocity, is now flickering, 

A dried up husk, left out for the circling horned vultures 

Salivating as innocence is bled out, pooling beside 

Her collapsed world, the only one she’s known and loved, 

Disintegrated in the fire she possess, brewed deep 

And erupted out of her, now she stares at the aftermath, 

Tangled in the deep twisted web, watching, clutching 

To the cross, singeing the light into dust, to impale fear

While deep in possession, of her resident demons, 

The snake stalked its prey in the tall blades, from slinking 

Into her crib, wrapping itself around her feeble throat, 

To her decline onto the dance floor, where a figure dressed 

In a burnt white tux, and a vile grin eager for her arrival, 

The poison spreading, consuming brilliance and taking

Her picturesque home, she disgusts herself watching

From her secluded tower, confined to this merciless takeover, 

Able to only witness the violent seizure coming to surface 

From within her own eroded vessel, sinking to unreachable

Depths, where care, concern and hope suffocates the breathless, 

Her demon, outstretched towards the crashing tower

As she runs, with it all crumbling beneath the decay,

Stifling her cry, as she chokes on the smoke, slithering 

From her slowly dying glimmer, picking up the dagger 

To subdue her persistent demon, waiting for their dance, 

To snuff out her clip of light, only remaining from her tight

Grasp upon her own fragile childhood, but nurtured, 

As it should, only to surrender at the will of the dance, 

She finally meets the darkness, with the dagger in possession, 

She has lost, before the music even began, taking stance 

The dagger held out together, slipping away from her arrest, 

As he forcefully brings her into his keep, under his domain, 

The spilling sand burying the past, as the demon fully takes over, 

Swallowing her whole, as he dances with her, yet without, 

In the ferocity he absorbed, only to let loose in an outburst 

The grim fire talons, lacerating the girl’s entire dynasty, 

Severed, from the sanity, engulfed in the cycling agony, 

Torn to the pits where obscurity keeps her consciousness, 

Looking at her broken palace, rusted over by the eclipse, 

Leaving it all to the decay, death being her demon, 

He spreads his storm from the empty, lost at sea vessel, 

Dancing alone to death. 


Sight at the Edge

Like the hunted, I sprinted to the edge of the cliff

To be subdued by my demons with joyous relief,

While the wolves are clung to my heels, salivating

At the inkling that they will bury their fangs 

Into my hollow struggle, surrounding me in the shadow,

Growling as they solicit my forfeit to their rules, 

To their own ways, desperately trying to drag me backwards 

Into what you were molding, the gallant tourist 

Showing off the coruscant of what would be left behind, 

Brewing the guilt of Macbeth, clouding my sight, 

But there are thirteen reasons why I find the cliff

At this moment, standing below it all, a stampede 

To let go, be far from the devil living beside me, 

I’m ready for truth, past these gates, which I hold tight fisted, 

Leaving its mark upon my arrival, reminding me 

One last time, what I’ll abandon once I cross the threshold, 

Back turned towards the lightning strikes, flashing

Against the stained rocks, nestled in the destination, 

It’s been a long journey to this entrance, to my judgment, 

Even with the pack growing inside the tall gates, 

I am here, at the precipice swallowing the sight ahead, 

Sinking into it and accepting fate of my own story

That is coming to its end, after all endured, 

Peace has come unto me, while wolves lose the scent. 

How many demons follow you up the hill? 

Complications will always be apart of life; 

Sickness, depression and hurt shadows your steps, 

Find the peace in the experience of sight.