I'm crawling upwards,Clawing out the earth to climb,Throwing others down.
Yes, I am a fraud: Covetous and passionate, And yet, dismissive and bored. I am like a child, Who cries and pleads for new toys, And so breaks the ones he has. And so in my fits, My discarded loves grow deep, Even as I grow shallow. How can I accept,The love you tenderly give,When … Continue reading Self-Reflections I
Blue smoke snakes from dark lips, seductive, The gossamer dress settles, languid, Slender arms cross the scarred space, cruelly, Wrapping around my throat, adoring, Hot tears fall as ruby drops, regret, I am contempt, lusting, delicious.
It feels cruel to beDistant from your soft dark smile,A grazing glance keeps me strong. It seems cruel to me:Smiles behind the patina,Of a well-worn wedding band. It is cruel to see,The cracks in our smiling masks.Comedy or Tragedy?
I hope there is a God,Because I need something to hate,For giving me the capacity to love,And for recognizingThe feelings you cannot reciprocate. I hope the Devil exists,Because then surely there is hell,For if there is no purpose to my pain,Then it follows,There is no end to end well. So I lie awake every night,Cursing … Continue reading Godless Porcupines
It is our curse to rise again after we have fallen,To commit to the agony of reliving day after day,How many times have I died, only to wake once more?But giving up is an anathema -Aren't we trained to move forward,And grasp for the next reward? Endure. Struggle. Live.
Roused I from a dreamless sleepless chill, Summoned to the study, cool and still, to find my patron sleeping deeply, poured over cantos stolen cheaply, Cobbled by whispers of ancient lore, Having discarded me, long before. So, having loved him, rob I his sight, Allow him to dream of endless night, Perhaps the Dark Stars … Continue reading My Muse Chuckles Darkly
I stopped this morning, All the thinking.Gulping air with sightless eyes,The constant bell-ring in my ear,The stabbing knives in my mind,Slowly faded.In my thoughtless breath,I rode free from the flesh,Beyond the blood running hot,And the thousand-thousand thoughts,Coalescing into the mortar-mess,Mortarium,That cages my feverish consciousness.
I stared at the bloody cut between my body and soul -It is not a physical sort of pain,This doomed wound,It is the absence of being, the gap between, a hole,Wound soundly around,The very concept of what makes you whole. Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Wound” as part of their Quadrille … Continue reading Staring at the Cut
I took a sip of hemlock today, So that I might die a philosopher, Imparting upon the world wisdom, Or, the very least, a pithy remark, But as the dark shroud fell over me, No terrible truths fell from my pale lips, Just the vacuous sigh, "Oh, I see," As oblivion stole my breathe away.