Never forget.

Liko smoke rushing into clean lungs,
some people are able to contaminate and
colonize.
Sitting on the edge, walls crashing down,
all the while hoping it'll be worth it in the end.
Sometimes penmarks fade or smudge on hands;
hands that sin, hands that heal
From time to time, the smoke will choke
and become hostile.
And as the tension stills the air,
not one of them all is left whole.
The epidemic swings through souls and takes over -
auditory misconceptions spin through oxygen.

Malevolence.

After that fatefully disastrous day, that moment,
You were torn to pieces, unable to feel carnal instances
As you floated through the world half-human, sub-human,
and not able to experience like the rest of us but Lord help us,
did we experience together.
With no other have I felt the same kind of excitement
when it came down to wanton situations and love.
Good God, come back
These days, you’ve become someone I don’t particularly care for inside,
but insides are a different matter
and every memory takes over me.
PS this was all a lie, someone I barely knew felt better inside me,
every time,
you malicious fuck

Floating through.

How the world looks through dilated pupils –
raw
A heavy weight of the head as we slip
A champion should emerge; it’s time
Change is relative and flowing
Thanatos pulses in the veins of those least capable to exert
force or will
A line of happiness like a gunshot to the stomach
Rightfully and redundantly put:
Those who ignore instincts automatically give way
to a series of happenings of an unkind sort.

----------------------------------

Repeatedness might confront one’s desire to change
or move on
Infinitely complicated, for it never stops spinning
Lives intertwine in stereo to form the big picture –
A spiderweb of human emotion
Captivated souls lean on voices to use for comfort;
to abuse,
to molest,
to desert
Quick and painless as it may be,
never underestimate.

Consonants.

Cavernous, walking through it now
Oblivious, we remain for the benefit of us all
Look upon it through a kaleidoscope now
And try, try to make something sensical out of us all
A dying army drums on the ground now
Coming to witness the last seconds of us all
Adrenaline rising, gushing out, spilling now
Do your worst and take vengeance upon us all
Cacophonous memorysounds take over now -

Injection-like days.

Godgutters and holysewers
Indentations on insides of elbows
A euphoria above us all, aforementioned vices
Determinism in its absolute truth
makes man undetermined to affect –
Thus, a vicious cycle is born
and fates infinitely pre-decided

Taking grotesque climaxes of a chemical kinds into one’s hands
drives man onto an elevated level of insanity
and it comes in waves
Fatal undulations of the balance
the voices of reason and moral merely mewl pathetically now
as they lead man into an unbreakable fortress of insanity
with silence
in solitude.

Airborne.

Lofty opinions as such, you call yourself an angel -
Flit further, for I can't bear the infinite jealousy.
In defense, I'll judge you,
as you were meant to be judged. (Do you not know that we will judge angels?) 1 Cor. 6:3

The possibility that it's you clutching at my spine and lungs through my skin, it's not small; I can't breathe,
for lack of faith or desire to be saved.
Salvation might be the wrong word -
I prefer to call it a cheap, hypocritical con,
but I always, always wanted to be an angel.
Seemingly so pure and righteous; there had to be something wrong with angels,
because of balance - wrong and right, light and dark.
Not even "servants of God" are made of only light.
Filthy souls

Temptation.

Some women are absolute demons;
They're hard to spot, sometimes, most of the time.
They'll fuck you over, leaving you begging for a merciful death or their undying love, no matter how painful either would be.
Most demonic women have eyes of fire or ice and a disposition of viral injections.
Naturally hypnotic voices echo through any room where you've encountered an individual of this species.
These women will completely captivate you - heart, soul, body, psyche, thoughts, dreams.
They will sneak into a position of being your entire life subconsciously, which you realize only once she's left.
They never stay.

Like spontaneous combustion, she'll light your heart aflame and never let it go out, even after she's gone.
These demons are passionate yet unfeeling.
I battle with them, I love them, they love me.
But they're nothing compared to soft hair, blue eyes and a contagious laugh.

Your eyes.

The trials of Hercules morph in modern day to psychic survival.
We are a diseased people, plagued by internal fires of the mind.
These days, it requires more than slaying a many-headed, malicious dragon to stay alive
We need to slay our own demons and no (sword) or (spear) is going

to help (!!)

Macabre, morbid, tragic
I resent these words.
This entity of our collective wellbeing needs more light.
(existence)

Irrational, sane, rational, insane
Locked in by extremes as the hoped-for traits lie between Freud's worst nightmares or wet dreams
Thanatos, thanatos
Give me libido (injections)

It'll hold.

Floating through the apple-green clouds, an airplane visits my conscience.
As it passes by me, it waves and a knife flies against one of the small, rounded windows as (even from far outside the airplane) even I can hear a blood-curdling scream echoing through the nightly, light sky and that scream penetrates my bones
(bones)
I soar further as I recall the memories and see them colonize my mind yet again, again, all over again.
Post-traumatic stress disorder, I shake in my parachute, the motor churns with pure energy and I recall again and I smile as I recall again, again, all over again.

Starry nights.

Combat boots, bottle caps, prostitution misconceptions.
The world sighs with each heavy step and a cigarette lights the way.

Communicational mishaps mar minds as the clouds stumble through the sky,
powered by violent pushes from the wind.

Untouchable happiness – dangerous, volatile, flammable.
The flames’ obscene licks bring forth insanity and nobody is left whole.

Life as seen through another’s eyes becomes vicariously satisfying;
you know once that realization hits, the light will never flow out of your eyes the same way
again.

Mnemophobia.

Autumn of 2008.

------------------------------------

A trace of autumn was in your gaze
all it took was silence
shhh -
let the leaves speak.

I was wearing purple,
and my lips were gray

you asked me if it was the end of the world
not for you, no

and the butterflies morphed to chainsaws
they flutter and they carve too

I was your pulse,
remain a slovenly ragdoll

and my nails are no longer pink
but red.

don’t stroke my neck,
don’t autograph my hipbone
don’t scratch my bare back

more chocolate
to despatch those memories

yet I know they will not fade
but cling on like blueberry soup
on a brand new dress.

Sutures on defects.

Even as your hand warmed the left side of my pelvis on the porch of a muddy, wind-battered cabin, I knew you’d eventually skin my bones.

Hang me up to dry, I’m still dripping like mad.
Maybe you altered my memories of it, I don’t know. The pine tree didn’t do it, though.
Not this time.

The sharpened spike of the shady spruce-like tree shattered my solemn, shuddering heart and its sincerity.
Once so clear, so pure, so pungent as I dove into you.

The back of your neck in front of my eyes, you knew. You knew.
My hand, independent of thought, took its place on your right hip and I felt you.
I felt the wave of shivers it made ripple in every direction as I traced with my index finger the line atop the waistband of your jeans, halfway down.

Little, big and minute rushes of pleasure shot through my tendons and muscles. Bones were left alone, for decorticating, fornicating, love.

End of the world.

A warmth emanates from inside me and I smile.
Concrete marks of your beautiful existence and I never have trouble finding the words.
The parliament of psycheparts and emotionpieces inside all vote yes and it scares me.

A screaming consciousness states its opinion through the soulless rain as it leads me back to purgatory and I smile.

Argyle and tears.

As I walk by,
I hope you'll smile at me again.
As I talk to you,
I hope you'll touch my hand.
As I laugh,
I hope you'll wrinkle your nose and wink.
As I get up to leave,
I hope you'll clutch my arm and hug me.
As I giggle and tell you you're an asshole,
I hope you'll stroke my hair and smile again.
As I walk away,
I hope your eyes never leave my retreating back and you'll regret.

"You dodged a bullet", you say.
I want to hurt you for saying that;
You don't know what I seek.

Caffeine in the morning.

This morning,
This state of mind,
This exhaustion of the head.

Butterflies caress the edges of my stomach lining as I feel an accident, (destructive), coming on.
Without reason, I smile.

I'm worn out and bruised, but happiness is probable, if not ecstatically sure.

Make me feel it again.

Contrast of light and dark.

The human mind is riddled with traps, wormholes into the unknown, inescapable crevices and thorns.

She felt herself being pulled into the reaches of her psyche; she couldn’t tell if she would ever be able to fully understand the infinite insides of her thoughts and whether or not she would ever be the same if she tried, but she felt compelled to delve into, responsible for and enticed by the vortex of thoughtbits and dreamditches.

And after that, I never saw daylight again.

Misty-eyed.

The blue drips out of my eyes with every blink;
Drops of soul on the sheets.
Sounds like slow, torturous rain;
the kind that makes you frustrated and your clothes only slightly wet with
large
drops.
My lungs attempt to force their way out through my throat and mouth;
The pressure makes me cough and makes my head spin.
My head feels heavy and less vibrant,
and I feel myself missing your colorful love.
Shocking myself, I lash out and make the situation worse.
You always carried the scent of love;
slight, hardly noticeable and intoxicating.

Train fumes.

Significant emotion backtracked to nonexistence and all I'm left with is a storm of nothing relevant. Utter frustration takes over as I try to make sense of something that was nonsensical to begin with. I hardly know how I feel about me, let alone myself in relation to someone else. This is the beginning of something possibly completely new, but definitely progressive. I may relapse, and I think I have, but Ill always have me and my pen. I'm confused now in several places and I have no idea what or who to call home. I guess home is something you'll recognize when it comes along, so it might be safe to say my home is found, but out of reach and too far.

One of the hardest and most fucked-up things of concepts is the delusion that you're okay, which leads into problems conjured out of thin air, which leads to the realization that the nonexistent problems held a lot of truth and their basis being nothing becomes untrue. This is what happened to me and now I'm comfortably troubled and out of balance enough to feel. Flatlining is boring and boredom does worse damage to me than cigarettes. If life were all lovely and careless, we'd kill ourselves. We need balance and feeling like shit is a part of it. Give me rain and sunshine and I'll stay balancing on the border between sane and insane.

Drunkenhigh night.

A long time ago, I slipped into slight insanity for about 5 minutes while high. This was the result.

--------------------------------------------------

Please love me -
wait, no, just "love me" -
It can work -
Sleep with me -
Kiss me -
Fuck me -
Love is relative and therefore not definable -
Therefore, you can't define why I couldn't love you -
My dear, I fear I'll never not love you -
Partly painful, partly comforting -
I float in unfathomed places -
You, motherfucker, are the cause -
These places never set me aboard a spiral of self-energy in the past -
For I never knew of them before you materialized -
These fleshy stubs some might call akin to wings have come to feel numb -
I hover now above seas of active ideas -
Wanting to dive in -
Faith is crucial -
Without it not a single activity -
(conscious or autonomous) -
Can remain mobile, metamorphosing, flowing -
They remain soft illusions -
Lighting aflame only when energy appears.

Nocturnal.

Summer nights go by too fast -
not really nights at all, the sun never setting.

Summer nights have a feeling all their own -
closer to a flood of emotion, the dam nonexistent.

Summer nights fuck you over -
getting lost in them, never finding your way home.

Silver lining.

My insides call me forth and I feel a confessional's in order.
The cardinal of my mind bows to the Pope of my consciousness.

How I need to escape, to run.
I need to breathe.

I may have found an oxygen mask;
It's a real shame the extension cord is too short.

A voice from afar (tentative) vibrates into existence from the darkness.
Clear enough in message but raspy enough to reverberate, I almost cry out.

--------------------------------------------------------

I can't hold myself together much longer, Voice.
Tonight, I miss you and it stings, Voice.
Hopes are high for clarity, Voice.

I've bet it all and I'm losing, Voice.

Oceanic.

A new feeling settles into my core;
Among all the amazing moments of late, one or several related stand out.

I sincerely, naïvely, truly felt safe.
Figurative arms still clench around me and I feel balanced.

Beer, throngs of people (one single mass), laughter and unity.
Thematically functioning and I swim in it, I'm immersed.

There's an ocean inside of me.

Sleep-coma.

The air is thick with smoke and your heavy breathing.
I'm awake, but still not quite, and the ticking of your clock is the only sound rhythmifying my existence this morning.
It's been light outside
for what seems like years,
but units of time are useless.

Why not measure "time" in states of mind,
or physical states of being?

Right now, it's hunger and weakness;
later it'll be fatigue and in some time,
satisfaction and content.
I live for fleeting moments, praying for something lasting.

My back hurts this morning.
I feel off this morning.
I'm alive this morning.

Waves.

Every time I spitefully breathe in smoke,
I breathe you in.
Several times a day (too many times), I slowly die from purely physical reasons
and you.

I miss you so much, words fail me.
This shocks me; I talk a lot, but now I spew out empty words if you're not nearby, within earshot.

I can't deal with the distance and I need to hold you.
I sincerely and overwhelmingly (suddenly) long for your apple-white skin and the way it reminds me of my own destruction.

Your lips are still the best I've kissed.

Emotional masochism envelopes me in its warm, stinging grip and I now know that that is where my safety lies;
within you.
My center;
within you.

I may be able to take a step back for now, but it'll be you -
over and over and over again.

As hopeless and useless as it is,
it's always going to be you.
Your smile, your laugh, your heart;
the way you love me.
You will eternally stab at voodoo dolls in my chest.

I love you.

Sore ribs.

WWII of registered waking up and the opposite rises in magnitude,
but I don't want to wake up to how this feels.

With half a heart, I hang on;
With the other half, I attempt escape
because I don't want to be here again.

I may be more than obvious to some, but you can't see a thing.
I hide behind walls and keep up a facade.
I feel filthy, diseased and traitorous
for doing this (in my mind) to some.

It's gonna hurt, and I'm sorry.

Realize.

Martyrdom pains some;
They blame themselves for everything that goes wrong.
It's nobody's fault, in reality;
We all fuck up sometimes.

Collective fucking up is what's wrong.
All the Al Gores of the world try to Dr. Phil us
and all we want to do is OJ Simpson them
and Lorena Bobbit organized religion,
after which we'd Kurt Cobain ourselves (the entire world)
and enjoy it.

Fucking hypocrites is what we all are;
every single one.

"Didn't want to know".

Sleep might save my psyche now
as confusion tears through my mind and resonates in my insides.
Emotions suddenly skyrocket and my mind is a thunderstorm;

The eye of the storm beholds your eyes.

I see things I can never be close to, too many obstacles blind me and terminate the way (the only way).
My back is warmed sometimes by thoughts of you, sometimes by wool.
The doors of perception open wide after what feels like an eternity of repression and I can't take everything in yet.

I'm flailing and have no idea where to go or who to run to.
I'm famished and have no clue whether to make myself sane again or not.

Utterly spent in every sense of the word and the sum of every color carves routes through my brainwaves as it slithers around.

On my way home.

Acceptance is subjective, apparently,
and shock + recoil the best reaction.

Stinging words whip at me and I find I cannot back away.
The pain (sting, slash) keeps me alive and sane,
for what seems too good to be true
probably is.

Cynicism repeatedly rears its malicious head,
these days.
And I long for the warm, wild comfort of the sun again.

Asdasd.

Tell me what you want,
what you mean.
Probably not much, but I'm way too far below and I was civil.
But I feed off of you,
and need you near me.

Make me mad and cause me suffering,
I missed this feeling.
Honestly, my body begs for you,
and it's taking everything in my power to not voice it.
This agonizing need for you is starting to scratch its way outwards
into the open space, where you could see it too.

I don't want that; I'm not available to you.
You blew me off once, blow me.
If only I could be cruel, but I'm floating between the perimeters, not feeling much.
I'm not sure of anything and I don't like this anymore.

You could probably make my emotional centerpoint fly to either perimeter easily.
Fucking do it, stop torturing me.

Asdasd.

I struggle to feel something.
I struggle to not feel numb.
I struggle to not be disappointed.
It consumes me without regard for my emotions - ironic.

Eh, prophesy saw this coming and it brings one down.
It's a shame I never did see it.

Confidence is difficult to manage and it can tip easily
into someone's direction,
making it impossible to control,
and that's why I am where I am.

Frustration is also a lovely feeling.
Make me feel.

Unapologetically.

Respiratory problems enveloped me and I feel even an inhaler wouldn’t help now.
One of those couldn’t hurt, though.
Fuck, claustrophobia nestles in with my other fears and paranoias;
My body burns and twinges occasionally.
My center is long gone as I reach out, trying to grasp it.
My center might be with someone else.
My center might not even exist.

A feeling similar to a gag reflex takes over my entire carcass each time I attempt to cough, but end up not breathing for several seconds.
This is purgatory.

I finally feel emotions I should’ve felt gods-know-how-long-ago.
Visual bending as seeing around corners becomes possible again.

Entities pick at strings inside me; we’re mere tools for the use of endless minds.
Flesh and blood combined don’t mean shit.

The world can rush when eyes are closed; I’m short of breath.
Feelings are felt as if through another being, like they’re not mine to feel.
Immense longing to walk and walk and walk and never stop takes control;
Letting go has always been difficult.

The napalm inside me is building up again.
It’s a fucking brutal war inside and I find myself, see myself, passed out on my floor as the elongation-addition-stretch of me walks out the door and lights a cigarette.

Find a happy place, find a happy place - stop writhing for nothing, pathetic piece of shit.

I’m nearly found, but the radar’s beeping precariously as something nears.

Superbia, avaritia, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira, acedia.

Green is a color of several meanings; disease, jealousy, a state of elevation, nurturing.
In rare cases, all four can be found residing in a single being.

Jealousy being relatively abstract, it has degrees of severity.
Nurturing is fairly simple and often indirect or accidental.
A state of elevation is easy to reach with money on you + the right connections.

Now, disease.
Disease is compelling and multidimensional.
Disease can be concretely defined, but I prefer to stick with a looser definition.
Susceptibility to some types of disease may be inherited or developed;
This varies a great amount considering the individual in question.
A crippling illness of the mind is far worse than
degeneration
of
the
carcass.

The carcass can usually be substantially fixed.
The psyche is too complex to repair easily.
Sometimes we must go through Hell to get to Heaven;
The same applies for "negative" afflictions of the mind.
They can elevate you and make you something utterly beautiful,
Or they can break you past the point of no return.

It's all up to you, all of it.
It's
all
in
your
head.

Cardiac arrest.

I wish I knew what to compare you to, just so I could form an estimate of how I should feel.
I never dig my way out of trenches of love evaporated at this speed;
What went differently?
I'll liken you to someplace I've not yet visited, but intuitively I know I want to and maybe in another life, I'll end up doing.

A would-be nymphomaniac outcast to myself is what I'll remain as.
Born on speed and unable to control emotion.
Sensitive bastard, indecisive bitch.
I am without manners; crude, rude and obscene.
I'll never be dishonest about who I am.

ps. I twitch like hell and have a moody pulse.

Insomnia.

As riffs from guitars, both acoustic and electric, echo in my head, I am reminded of you through direct and indirect associations.
The words randomly chosen from purposeful songs ring through me and the low frequencies reverberate through my spine, causing forced movements.

Independence towers near me, calling me to climb up and look around through new eyes.
In a trance I ascend neverending stairs as I realize the destination, however desirable, makes no difference compared to the journey itself, which can be molded and can branch in several directions and states of consciousness simultaneously.

Some may mistake these remarkable vibrations for insanity in the broad sense of the word or schizophrenia, causing negative splitting of ions, angles of consciousness and the soul.
This splitting, circling and evolving can be absorbed and used to free aspects of your psyche from confinement; to unlock cages and release new dimensions of self-awareness or death of oneself internally.

Once you relinquish even the slightest attempt at control over these autonomous actions, you might find that the external world in its whole spectrum of material starts to lose its seductive shine slowly as your mind takes over and cage doors begin to fly open, independent of conscious control.

Beginning of a journey.

As I sat in the cold, I didn't half-expect or even strongly hope to see you.
It puzzled me; usually I'd long for it.

A moment of clarity in the midst of various states of intoxication that took all doubt away suddenly washed over me.
I discovered I'm mirroring myself in you and living off my vices.

They keep me sane, (the border's alarmingly close, though)
I lie to myself and become diseased, oozing false truths, assumptions and wrong encouragements.

The flashback-like feeling that rushes through me, making my neck tingle and skin tinge with a reddish glow when you snap at me or ignore me is approaching too much in my head and I'm approaching the state I was in a year ago.

A salvia trip: a short-lived, intense sensation that feels like an eternity. Familiarity is painful; I can relate to that drug and the tripping without ever having experienced it concretely. Just through you.

I'd love to ascend from the memory of this, But I fear I might be down here a while.
Thankfully I can nearly say I'm allright, but the words are still too mumbled to decipher in my head. Not just yet.

Optophobia's setting in again, good night for some time.
People, places, feelings, habits, situations become strong addictions in an instant.
I can't keep up yet; listen to me.
I'm in detox and my rehab consists of solitude, people, coffee, cigarettes and clarity.

The Devil and His.

Grey matter; bang and the strike is gone again, a dull ache remains.

You might feel better than you thought.

Fiery winds tunnel in my insides, look.

(At least I went down singing.)

Phoenix, fiery winds, reincarnation, rebirth, flight.

Napalmnapalmnapalmnapalmnapalm in my bed.

It's not so bad; I'm still very much alive and breathing.
Appreciation flows as the topmost emotion.

Thank you, again, infinitely, I care for you.

Tonight, tonight.

My veins crackle with it
It only makes sense flying
I might explode, catch the liver
Casserole
Soft psychedelia coursing in veins of those that can
If only, if only
The cat would not hiss (or mew)

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Mahdoton muistaa.

A formula to which few people have the solution; complicated calculations.
Gentle arithmetics, subtracting and algebra combine.

Out of the web.

Whirlpools of doubt; frustration churns through my insides and I feel nauseous.
The things I need to carry and see through weigh a lot and my back hurts already, without extra baggage.

The light awaits me in a few short days, a matter of hoursminutesseconds.
The dark side tempts me; I have a passionate love for it.

But we all need the light sometimes.

Bliss.

Moving on, moving forward, moving toward something beautiful.
My emotional, bloodstained rollercoaster has gone out of business,
And I smile.

On a new frontier, exploring, intrigued.
Thrilling chills up my spine; I feel like the sun,
And I smile.

Press my back against a wall, kiss my neck, whisper.
"You make me happy; you're beautiful".

And I'll smile.

Flashbacking (to almost a year ago).

I could say "Make me bleed," but
I'd rather you do it voluntarily.
Bruise me,
Scratch me,
Bite me.
I have to say nothing,
Slash me open inside
And I'm happy again,
All bled out.
I have no energy to resist,
So I smile.
I'll get you next time, I think,
As I rest my head on your chest.
I never knew the glory of pain,
For I am inglorious.

Abstraction.

We stand at the borders of different zones,
Barely touching.
These zones represent things that limit us;
Our physical beings.
If these zones were to be eradicated,
Nothing would be impossible.
The concrete, visible variations of our exoskeletons can only be called limits.
Once we peel off useless layers,
Excess layers of humanity, inhumanity, facades and farce,
We cease to be mere caricatures of ourselves.
Every one of us in our respective, limiting, volatile-to-touch zones.
Upon crossing a border, I may ignite,
But don't fear, love - It's only my outer shell burning.
After 10 000 days of the torturous fire, I'll scream into the deafening silence,
And be yours for all time.

Wired agents.

Parabolas are inclined to symmetry:
The basis for psychedelia.
There is balance in chaos; sick, twisted, perverted
But a balance nonetheless;
It is organized, lesser chaos.
Tipping the scales? Fatal, in theory.
In practice, a different matter, a constituent of sorts.
An agent of relentless chaos.

When this occurs, organized chaos is a distant fantasy,
But everything else feels like the best orgasm you've ever had,
Times a thousand and then some.
Wanton, dirty, secret and all-encompassing.
Dive into the uncontrollable and poisonous,

You'll find you love it in there.

The City of Dys: the Temple.

The shades / souls screaming
Writhing behind me in their pews
that stretch along in thousands
I feel I'm being torn apart, slowly pulled
Agonizingly flayed as I try to gaze at
The shrine, the idol or tower
The tower or chimney that represents
Eternal moments of something
Ongoing suffering, pain, noise
A higher entity that willingly binds
Everyone and everything together
I tried to gaze up but my vision bent
Trying harder but being flayed more
Spots of light, uncharacteristic
Finally I saw, a chimney in a holy color
Black as night
Smog rising and falling and rising and
Falling
Ebony and solid, leaves no trace
Outside your soul
I died, passed out, gone
Snapped back to reality
My warped interpretation

------------------

A pressure everywhere and my head is compressed
The shades are still calling
Sirens
They sound sweeter now
I find I'm there within their masses
As one, as any
Breathing only because its the only thing that
Keeps the noise flowing
I'm prodded, hit, touched by one
Its touch is soft and warm
What comes off as pain and terror to all
That see the shades is a sensory lie
What they experience is utter bliss, euforia
Life at its purest
I feel enveloped
The light now exists and is brighter

Chakra shocker.

As my head spins around images of bliss, I find myself actually wanting to feel them, fuse into them.

Human speed, amphetamine, live wire.

My energy flows now in electric blue through the only circuits that make sense.
Out of my limbs, my fingertips, buzzing roughly still at the outer edges of the emanating glow.
The energy in me is audible, visible, available to the senses in compromising situations.
I grow vulnerable, evaporating doubt.

The electricity buzzes louder as I reach toward the still-unattainable, desirable, necessary awareness of self.

I'm getting there, glowing.

Stingers.

For the longest time, love was a misnomer and obsession the correct term.
That time was fleeting, and I soon found myself looking at you through everyone else’s eyes; how they all saw the decaying inside that took me months to wrap myself around.
I became a metastasis of the tumor inside you, spewing decomposing matter where words ought to have been.

Painful processes and self-inflicted sting succeeded in slinging me sideways to simplicity, and I saw you.

Helpless times past.

And the way I saw you, saw your skin and the way you moved.
Silky, smooth, soft, susceptible.

This atrocity we created in my dwelling, white shirts like flags on bedposts and trousers on the floor like masks we shed to see your insides; our goal and destination.

Your bones jutted out like the corners of that wooden chest in our living room, and I could tell you hadn’t been eating. You smiled (I couldn’t believe it), like you were proud.

You have always scared me, you’re like a spectre resonating from one edge of my retina to the other, a beautiful wanton creature.

Temporary emotion.

As your hand slid out of mine, omnipotence clicked its stopwatch to a painful start, click. Looking forward to this, we are, as a slaughterer waits for Mondays to skin something alive. It’s days from hell, days when all you’d love to do is stop and scream, days when nothing matters but the blunt fingernails pressing curves into your back, or was it a dream?

But every morning, the faint red breaths of texture marring your skin strike you like Ali with the truth. Only occasional occurrence makes it all okay, right?

Baby, does it make you sense, perhaps a scent similar to matches or tar, how you reek of deception? You’re transparent as a bulimic’s skin, and your defenses fall apart like paper succumbing to a flame. Click.