Catch Some Wide Eye

Heart


stretched like skin over a drum
dead by default
live by bashing

straining
the way you shrink down a little
at the sound of your own voice
a noise too naked
to be of your own making

Forced


we translate our souls:
thick blotches of indigo ink
on flecked and knotted tatters of paper

Thank You


without your silence
i would not be
the beautiful outcast
i’ve become

Dear Diary


I love, love hard and harder, but everything upon which my heart alights is lethal: lethal to my own motivations and aspirations. With them, my soul sinks to a watery tomb, crushed by the weight of time into a paraplegic submission. I cut myself from my past nearly as quickly as I claim it, a vain effort to keep this storm-tossed vessel afloat. That she is treading water is no secret. Perhaps it is my suicidal need to bear all and frighten off all humanity. Deeper still is my persuasion to latch on until all hints of affection are completely sucked dry.

I cannot process the length and depth and breadth of my ills but am forced to fear them wholly, entirely as they tousle my being back and forth among the dark, cruel waters of my soul. For with every reverberation, my soul quiets and becomes far more still until the asphyxiating death throes land hungrily upon her eviscerated frame. What components, what anomalies, what mysteries lie beyond this surge of evangelical waters is hard to tell, though I am almost fairly certain they boast of hell.

Untitled 104


creation
recycles its soul
to the future

the future
sheds daily
its broken past

Flutter


this thing in my heart
i’d forgotten
it’s real

A Meditation on the Nature of Love


love is a river
coursing and still at once
always refreshing itself
both painfully dangerous
and soothingly life-giving
multiple currents, eddies
the length, depth, breadth inestimable
never leaving what it touches unchanged
from crystal clear trickles
that rise from the foundations of the earth
to stale, muddied swaths left alone, unstirred
always one and the same
many things to many people
love is a river

Disillusionment


by the time you find me
i will be somebody else

Disentanglement


washing onto the shore
of my self
reflection
two crescent moons
repetition
again

Once in a Never Land


run your song right through my bones
whatever the meter the fever intones
ride it up and up now
bury the sound, button me down
click, click, click
leave a message after the
after the tone
pick up the phone, bringin’ me home
click, click, click
memory wheel, how does it feel?
leave a melody after the
after the tone, right through my bones

Art Noveau


i’ll be your special origami piece
just fold along the dotted line
and tap me at the crease

International Feedback


worlds spinning
face collides into bone
hostile nations
that can never atone
the difference in scepters
is as wide as the sea
but your flags are the same
to me

Love’s Lullaby


finding my dead rhythm to set it in the grave
sometimes we awake to love, and sometimes we abstain
he took my heart out with him; i hope it will behave
sometimes we awake to love, and sometimes we refrain
in a field of withered roses, maybe we all look the same

Nourishment


slices of soul
dripping with succulent nectar
as the juices of my heart
dribble down your chin

Heart


you
are the demon howl
of my soul

Pose and Repose


defenses wrecked
from years of scraping
my soul through sieves

scoop it into your hands
and sift
the screaming from the laughter

Awkward Pauses are My Life


Getting Friends


The thing that sucks about being alone isn’t so much the solitude or the empty time or the yawning space or the fact that you’re more likely to uncover some personal blemish via reflection. It’s that once you finally do get around people, it fills you til you could burst.

Bursting hurts.

You end up having a million things to say so you either can’t decide what to say first and end up not saying anything at all, or you try saying everything all at once before you forget it all, words tumbling over themselves in an effort to get as far away from your lips as possible. Neither tactic wins you many friends, which would be why you’re alone in the first place.

Symphony Magical Mystery Tour


English: Brendan Townsend conducting the Lared...

an elder wand with a resin core
sprouting musical moments from tip to bore
the magic of stardust becomes still at a glance
then heightens the conquest, encores to advance

Em


brace
the storm is coming

embrace
the storm is coming

embrace the storm

Post Navigation

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,390 other followers

%d bloggers like this: