Monday, July 27, 2015

The Letter

The Letter, The Letter
in attempt to make life better
or maybe it's just a curse.
As prayer and hope
left me scrounging for
empty promises,
and words muttered
by those
almost unconscious.

The Letter.
What do I say...
I see you're also gray.
Dragging yourself through everyday.
I too, understand this uneasy feeling.
Dear Sorrow,
It's not much to offer,
but I am here.
This time has remained the same.
Fighting without passion is like putting
the already deceased out
to defend a battle.
I wish life could be more of
what you want
not what we are forced to be.
Let it be recorded in history
that I believe in your dream
more than
any other sediments beside you.
This letter,
from the rebelliously worded
trendsetter
goes to someone
I cannot name.
You won't find a header,
but I wrote this letter,
and I tucked under my bedsheets.
I sleep on the paragraphs,
and I am sure they wake me
just to contemplate sending it again.
I think how romance is gone,
and what kind of fools
still write to men who
might see you as insane?
Perhaps a little profane....

Denouement will likely discourage
the crisp harbinger,
or will the latent deluge of a word spill
be crinkled inside of a desk
silver with dust.
An empty pen of your lust.
Read on occasion
when they begin to feel
tortured by the meaningless
shuffle of life again.

The Letter has a life of it's own.
I meant to tell him he was not alone,
but it ended up being
an alphabetical listing
of wordings I couldn't find a perfect meaning to.

Dear reader
of this open letter,
Nostalgia is alive and well.
This one is for you.

The Fairy Between The Walls.

If I could tell you a story,
one that had all of your attention...
not tiring or blahser;
perpetually engaging
through irrational
and fair weathered...
That grabs the wrists
about to turn away....
Step closer,
but only for a moment.
There's a song
sung now.
Respited and squeezed
like a fairy
that pushed herself
between the cracks
of the wall:

She's going to tell you not to let them get too close.
Because when the world gets under her skin,
and when you find it bouncing in your skull
there isn't any medicating pairing of words
that forces it out.
Stay far across the room.
Quarantine any potential loss
derived in pessimism
sitting along side of loving dysfunction.  
Inhibited reverence is her worst enemy.
Remembering all of those times
her arms stretched out
to the utilization  of her heart
buries her deeper in the recesses 
few eyes can see.
That's a hidden niche.
She advises sequestering comfortably in your own nest.
Although constricting a valuable nature,
no one else can be invited in.
There's only enough room for her in the bubble.
As it floats out
it is chased by all who want to pop it.
Isn't it unfortunate that they failed to see
the reflection in the pearly film
of themselves.
There she remains.
Up high,
and out of reach.
Let yourself resonate with this lonesome story
of the concerned being
that knows you should never let anyone get too close.
   


Friday, July 17, 2015

Combustion

Every time I hear that train
I think of loves past.
It had gone away,
but the sad romance
still stays.
Echoing in the distance
scheduling a return
wait alone at the station.
I place my head on the track
as the vibration signals
a pending arrival.
I smelled the air
nervously welcomed combustion,
and worried what else the
heavy freights of temptation
will bring.
Tie me to the tracks.
It's too late to divert
this path
I've already laid down. 

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Stained

Blot the spilt emotion.
Dry, empty,
but lasting from pasts.
It is still there
permeating the fabric of your soul.
A stain of play
in a closet of ruin.
Darkening threads
of gilded clothes
worn in layers.
I'll hide the each one
over a body
that is the most damaged
in flooded rich colors.
These decorations swoon
in the beauty
of moonlight.
All you see is a silhouette
and never care
if there is a blemish fluidity
in this linen and lace
that hides
so much more.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

The Weather

In hilarity
came illumined sun.
We are the weather.
Don't invite any clouds
to block your light.
It's miserable for me
when it has to rain.
Though I see it's vital
for you to continue your life.
Roaring halcyon horizon,
we are the only lives
I tend to dream about.
A rested head is one relying on an empyrean day to look forward to.
Strive for sunshine.
Everytime you see me look
towards the sky
It is caused by hoping
for clear day
where I could see you.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Visious

Holding back the viciousness
in times of doubt
rumbling in pits of plain appearance.
A wild rage to stifle.
Pounce and turn
Feel what needs to be.
Across the line of drawing power
out of control
the polar affect leaves you in need of mercy.
Lodestone is naturally occurring
in all matters of
perversion and deviance.
You can try to keep forces separated.
Viciousness will stare back in longing.  

Drowning

Kill me slowly in the drowning of empty words.
They float above your head;
Light and simple.
When I don't return
find my lips are royal blue.
 Fluid suffocation.
 I tied rocks to my feet
to end it quickly.
As I gasp for air
hold me down without hesitation.
In all the ways you could have slaughtered you chose
unresponsive liquidation.
Show me how to stay alive
when these floods of travail
weigh heavily.
You seem to walk on water
while I  am foggoten
at the bottom of this sea.