Paranoia?
Left and right the clock arrows tick, driven by the unknowing.
Garnering unforeseen thoughts, I seldom leave my bedding.
Setting my words on a shelf, I take my place in my isolation.
What horrors lie beyond my solitude?
What terrible mess may sit itself before me?
I do not want to know.
It frightens my being to its very core.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
The very memory of my being will create my manifestation in the future.
I will be there. When you're sleeping. I will watch over you. Others will not see that I am there. But you will. You'll see me. You'll hear me. Trumpets will mark the day of my rebirth. A fanfare of miracles.
I will be there.
there.
with you.
no whe re to look
Obsession overwhelms my being as I glare into the brightness of the screen.
The room is dark.
The air is warm.
My eyes itch with salinity, pouring out my heart and soul in trickling madness.
Unable to suffer the illness no longer, I force my face away.
There is nowhere to look.
Only the misshapen inflections of noir melt my retinas.
They shift and squirm, never quite taking shape.
What lay beyond there before no longer was.
My presence disappears into my mattress,
my heart sinking in the falls of miasma.
Out.
The crackling of fires singe the back of my eyes.
I cover the truth that lies before me, digging into what never was.
The mind drifts to sacredness, islands afar.
Red paints the body and soul, leaning arrows against my chest.
Unwilling to believe myself unworthy,
I unravel.
Brevity marks the soul, chains shackle untrained minds.
Driven by an unseen being, I lay my hands across my shoulders.
Unshaken by the afterthoughts of childishness.
A living creature needs no passion where gentle warmth comforts in their solitude.
The fruits of labor have no meaning without a burn in the heart.
The flames die out.
Motivation
I glare into the dark, as it morphs and changes its shape.
It beckons me forward, an ode to pleasantries in soft daylight.
Being as it may, it injures my being.
Following my head, I carry on aimlessly.
Neither am I here nor there, as this box leaves me stifled.
Gazing at an eternity I cut apart myself like felt.
It falls away such as flower petals drop like flies.
I stare at my un-moving self.
l’ automne
Gold sunlight flashes against auburn skin.
The fall air sends a shiver down my spine, my fingers growing cold.
You grasp your hand in mine, my chill hands making you jump.
As you let go my hand feels colder than it did before,
an aching feeling that has me in a stupor.
I walk inside my shaken heart, asking them why they have shown themselves before me.
A soft laugh rumbles throughout the space.
The frost melts within my chest, but dread occupies my thoughts.
What ever shall I do?
Video
Shooting stars burn out in small winds,
crackling and popping as the shards leave their spirits in disarray.
One star hops over another, overshadowing its dim light that wishes to shine.
Long nights lead to shallow days, the sun never rising quite as high.
That burning light guiding the others yet never looking behind.
Bitter swallowing in fallen tears,
trouble in lying eyes,
Gamble one’s life away.
Left
Listless and abandoned,
little bird watches from its window.
awaiting a time soon to come, holding its tongue in silence.
It lives a life hither to wisps in the wind
birds bite through solid glass
leaving a crack in their wake
shattering between branching paths
not a breadcrumb to their name.
Slumber, lies its dreams and pain
giving only when ginger lemons and tufts of cotton leave hints of bitterness in its bevel
Something dances in darkness,
the ever-ending void watching as it tickles the tips of my fingers
the art of gentle yells letting sound through memory.
Blood, Iron
I lay
in the pile of rubble
The cold air tainting my warm skin
as I watch the world above me
Crumbling.
Sharp metals stab into my back
My limbs grow numb and limp
I turn my head to look to my side
Blood
runs down
Tracing my forehead
Pooling into my eyes
The familiar taste of
Iron.
My eyes follow along my broken arm
The joint bent out of place
My hand is covered in dark gray
My fingernails soaked in red.
As my vision blurs
And the blood stops running
I realize now that
I am once again
Dead.