We could drive out to the mountains,
leave the city and the shadows behind,
the stacks of paper bills and paperwork,
the jobs, the chores, the heartaches;
search the wooded valleys
for blue jays and cardinals
listen to the quiet rumbling of brooks,
see the majestic power of mountains,
the colorful peace of sunsets and rainbows,
sleep beneath a ceiling of stars,
the Milky Way spread out
like God’s amazing brushstroke,
look into the flames of the campfire
crackling deep into the night.
We could find ourselves
away from the bustle and chaos
and open our minds to dreams.
Intoxicating grotesque mind of yours
The divine and the pretend saints bring their wars to you
Haunting ugly soul of yours
You are home.
Taunting voices carrying us to the infinite abyss
Our obsession brings them no bliss
I should have been the hope
I couldn't break the through the shell
I should have been gone
I remain under your spell
Since your darkness shrouds their fake light
You are home.
Lay me to rest in your arms,
Take my agony to be yours,
Take my pain to your shrine
Chain me to your will
...Forever and always.
The haze clouding the mind
A blurry world with the pretense of being fine
Is the cerulean sky that high?
A lionizing quest to fly...
Wings tethered to hope for a better future
Taken over and spreading like a cancer
A never-ending promise of care yet full of rancor
Where is the silence of winter?
To ease the mind from the agonizing days and nights
Agonizing days and nights...
Frail softly touch of the tunneling white
So far, so far away to reach these heights...
Unfettered wings full of hope
Amidst the babel of their voices
A tainted soul wishing for a sun-kissed thought
Where is the light amidst their endless gazes?
The stuff that dreams are made of:
sunset clouds and sparkling snowflakes,
the sunbeams that peek through leaves
deep in a lush green woodland,
ocean waves splashing under the boardwalk,
the smell of wood burning in autumn
and the leaves alive with color; red, yellow, orange,
notes of quiet music fluttering out through an open window
as translucent white curtains blow with the summer breeze,
butterflies fluttering over a lake in the mountains
that reflects snow-capped peaks and blue sky like a mirror,
the horizon past the ocean at night
as the moon ripples silver light over the water.
this beating heart
I want to taste
there’s blood on my hands and it tastes like your ghosts
said you’d watch for bad dreams but we know how it’d go
there’s not much left i can’t go much further
my legs long to run but my heart is tethered
the fires burnt out said it’s time to let go
pour the ashes on us and let the memories flow
Letting Erato Go
I’ve learned not to chase my muse,
but to watch her fly,
let the butterfly go with the wind,
rather than grabbing a wing,
dusting off the beautiful color.
I’ll capture her beauty in words:
The oranges and yellows of an autumn fire.
The blues and whites of a boundless sky.
The pinks and purples of a spreading sunset.
And I’ll dream of her,
and in my dreams we’re always together
in a cabin by a mountain lake
or riding bikes along the beach,
listening to the quiet rumble
of waves rolling in beneath the moon.
Death began adagio
a slow mesmerize
banks of Styx
I cross waters
of no second
and Moirai’s pull
carved into the flickering structure, into the erratic pulsating ( love ) driven things
I imagine dipping my hands into thick,
s t i c k y
as it drips down my fingertips,
and then sliding them against your curves
and those countless
pressing my signature into you,
y e s
I caught fire when licking my name off your thighs
and those wounded,
rose petal stars
each letter , ink tattooed in cerulean blue
and pressed into your skin,
I wrote me,
in a soul clustered map against the lines of your body
into the tapestry of your love
forever claiming you mine
*mine as I am yours
After it all
TW: thoughts about unaliving, self harm and substance abuse
When do I feel alive?
Maybe when I'm going 60 to the Rainbow Station for something to ease my mind into a silence.
The fog brings me comfort, a hug I never got.
Maybe when I'm going 70 down a back road
The moonlight catching the same way it did when I ran into the woods, afraid but excited.
Maybe it's when I light my cigarette inside of the car going 90 up the highway.
The lighter reminding me of the burns on my arms inflicted, trophies of the fights my mind would win against me.
Maybe it's when I'm driving and contemplating on ending it all with just an extra sharp turn.
Maybe... I should stop driving so far from home.