Bad company.

Fear of loss is a fickle thing;
it passes, returns, crests and passes.
For me, it is timely and at times invisible,
other times far too visible –
horribly so.

People lose, gain, love and are pained;
a cycle without beginning or end.

Attempted assassination of the heart, mind, body, soul
makes one’s head foggy, full of smoke.
Vicious talons, vicious talons,
do tell me where you’re headed.

As music fills my ears, the world dims,
my words become a mess,
my voice, my honest voice, is all I have.

Attempting to make my thoughts reality,
perception-worthy marks on my psyche,
I find I often fail.
None of it makes much difference most of the time.

A front line soldier.

An ongoing battle;
it’s merely my part.
As I step to the front lines,
I’m petrified.

I will never be waterproof
and I will fall often –
a knockout blow always takes me down.

Out of tears, out of their meaning;
Flailing as I attempt to gather the pieces
after destructive realizations.

Call me wonderful,
(I’ve heard it before),
but never bother to show its meaning.

A helpless victim to my own vices,
and I can’t grasp concepts anymore.
One more cigarette, one more day.

Liquid temptation, take me by the hand,
lead me to Eden, help me understand.
Drift as smoke into the air, coil and spin.

The recoil strike’s never easy,
the shotgun of my mind’s lethal –
I’ve got the smile of a killer.

I always know where they are,
I always see them,
I always end up in their arms.

Comforted by discomfort;
(help me here), listen,
my shields are up.

There’s a fire inside of me,
dangerous and malevolent,
but it’ll never lay a flame on you.

Melancholia is my lover,
her eyes the bluest blue,
and I’ll take my mask from the table;

Welcome back, baby.

Én route.

As day falls into the arms of the night
and the night is woken by the embrace of the dawn,
flowing into day again,

I’m with you.

My mask fell when yours did;
it cascaded down in a flow of facadebits
(things that were no longer selfishly necessary)

The light is brighter,
the night less melancholy,
my mind less chaotic,
and my heart –
it’s for you to hold.

I see the rising sun in your glowing eyes;
reach for me in the dark and I’ll feel it too.

My entire being pulses in blue,
from my eyes to my veins as you drift through them.

And the only thing brighter than the morning sun is how I feel waking up with you.

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.