I want to fight,To claw my way back up.But that's a lie, isn't it?
The Wind Whisperer
The Wind Whisperer
The cadence of a cold heart, caught on the cruel, bitter winds of the world. Drifting, endlessly, falling closer to the ground, but never quite reaching. An illusion of flying. If you can...catch me... :)
A story. An open ended question. If you could dance along the riverbanks of each waking morning, what colour would the sunrise paint your eyes? If this were a ballet, our feet would stay upon the ground. But we'd like to think otherwise, wouldn't we? Maybe this story is a pretty good one. Maybe the glove doesn't fit the hand. Maybe the glove just fits.
I Go No Further
"Delilah, I'm broken," I say. What has happened to me?I want nothing more than to lieUnder transparent tablesGasping in a hot plumeAs it fillsMyWeakLungs,The slow exalting decay of my breath,Because suicide,Doesn't have to pass quickly.To fade, gradually, quietly, by my own hand -They can already see through me.<I want to be trampled onA filthy slutHatedWeak and joylessUntil my life has become nothing moreThan the greatest tragedy.I want love. I go no furtherFor fear of what I will say.Delilah does not exist.
When I Carried The Drunken Burden Alone, Because No One Else Could Shoulder The Responsibility
I am not a console for reconciliation - this isn't my culture to endure.Just because I smile, it doesn't mean I want to.Just because I breathe, it doesn't mean I need to.Just because I'm kind, it doesn't meanI don't want to break every porcelain doll in your glass house.Fuck you and your lucid social magnetism.Just because I haven't fallen yetTo the digging, the bitingThe scratching, the clawing,Of my skinAlong deep blue veinsChoking back tearsAnd gnawing hungers painsBetween remote suicide composuresIt doesn't mean that I won't WillWant toCast my own portentous choreopoemWhere I am more than justA B-list characterPretending you think I matter.
Not Your Life (Boat On The Sea)
Impounded feet upon a loom of sand Dune rising up, embracing tiny seams along your body. Weighing anchor and Relieving the burden of secret dreams You carried. Don't pretend to be yourself. Believing these caricatures worthy Of drowned wishes torn from sails and delved, Engrossed in flame through shallow, earthly Existences kept. The current is close. And trepidatious, your weak touch will cause The slightest ripples as you wade, your clothes Wet, hanging. Your life, living, gives you pause. Yet what of nature, belonging of men, Is tepid enough to curve the ocean?
Dearest Insomnia
I wish I gold keep you in a jar For a night when I feel a little more emotion. The last time - with my heart -I fell asleep,A sudden rush of conscientious dreams amidst tears, When all wanted was to stay awake
To break my heartTime and time againOn brittle petalsTo crash my love again the bloody rocks ashore.Let me save your tepid soulIn case I everFall in love
Oh Egypt
Your internal remorse – estranged and ... oh, of what else?
It is so difficult to speak of true remorse. Is that my failing as a writer? To only employ fiction, and weak-hearted momentos? I don't think so, but I don't know what it is.
Pain is pain, regardless of why it is felt. That little, I do know.
Egypt, my heart is with you.
(singing self-adapted peace songs to the background of my ramblings)
Where I Was Raised
Darling I got lost in a wonderland
Darling I got lost in the cold
Feeling thin as a snowman
Wrapped in miles of hats and coal Well we could chase the borders
Down the lines we've drawn
And if you could be my Northern Shield
Then I could be the open field
To lay your head upon
Until the summer snow has gone If I chase another childhood dream
Then I don't know where I'll turn
This year I'll sleep in the unwanted boughs
Of another coniferous home Well we could chase the borders
Down the lines we've drawn
And if you could be my Northern Shield
Then I could be the open field
To lay your head upon
Until the summer snow has gone
