~Serene Escape~

Soft grass tickles my skin with beguiling touches
As my body lays nestled among their soothing blades
A lingering passion is clutching my soul,
Invoking the most agonizing of pleasures

Warmth kisses me gently as you fall into my clouded eyes,
Murmuring sweet longings and desires,
Yet it is not of your own cravings that you speak so ardently;
They are mine, your voice infusing hypnotic rapture
In the very thought of pursuing them

My mourning heart is continually thumping, slowly and meekly;
But it is only for you that I remain webbed amongst living souls
I glimpse at my side as my hand lurks silently
To caress the cold stone that I am bound to

By the strings of the existence I hold firmly,
The life you have contrived with bloody hands
This blade that I press faintly against my neck,
Is it you that so tenderly guides it away?

Sighing weakly, I know I cannot stay
Locked behind the doors of searing madness,
Trapped inside this bleak cemetery,
For as long as I lay with tilled gravel,
Your voice will not cease to echo.

~Whispers~

Hell-bound riddles murmur softly in my ear
A jeering sound of impenetrable fear
Watching you now with my frozen expression,
My heart humming operas of relentless possession,

I am bound by the silence you so fervently speak,
Forcing myself to laugh a melody, so feeble and meek
Oh, blessed evasion that captures me so
In its woven patterns—its captivating glow,

Am I fated to be at the mercy of such mindless isolation,
Holding a bloody knife across the gaze of confrontation?
It is not for my own twisted pleasure, but for lack of audacity
That I struggle behind the wall of unspeakable veracity

You who I watch with vacant, weary eyes,
Crying out for your own selfish demise,
Your hands glitter a shining dance with the shadowy moonlight
As you hold my love with unleveled might

Yet I continue to shelter myself behind this barrier,
Fearing my own heart and its carrier
I cannot watch you fall into the madness that you hold,
Such whispers I keep close to remain untold.

~Goodbye~

Why does my heart yearn like a staggered breath?
Timidly, it’s burning a thriving crave,
Its billowing thickening with love’s death
Am I not the bleak stone that marks your grave?

With a soft sigh, my once lively heart slows
Like the weak wind of your forgotten soul
I am caught in a fire of howling crows,
Their dark feathers mimicking what I stole,

An eternity crying in fate’s hands
Is it I who has buried you ‘neath the ground?
My head rests against you as I tie the bands
Of capturing darkness, this place I have found

Penitence begins its unending climb
As I let my hand clasp yours one last time.

~Midnight Sins~

Your hands lit fire across my skin
As a low sigh slipped gingerly off my lips
All coherent thoughts had been rendered mute
In our desperate dance for pleasure

My body writhed with yours underneath a shriveled moon
Forbidden kisses tickled our heated flesh
The madness of youth had fallen upon our shoulders,
Such bindings I held no desire to remove

I wanted nothing more than to sink into your beading sweat,
To escape
I was selfish, stealing your lips with mine,
Letting your soothing arms hold me tightly
My breath rattled against yours—a strumming symphony
Of unspoken emotions

Hopeless misjudgment, a sin even
I felt my heart laugh that night
I was overcome by continuous deterioration,
Yet I could only smile

Our glittering sin was barely visible
Amongst the entities of my past that thrive
In the constancy of my mistakes

You who I so viciously tore ecstasy from,
Am I a part of your tainting?
Or am I just a flicker, dissipating in your lost memory,
Your dead reminiscing?

We glided with the stars that night
We lived then—flourished
Now we’ve died, and while I can still remember,
You are numb.

~Unfilled~

A smile curls onto my lips as you suffer,
But I’m shedding a river behind my stony orbs
Is it wrong for me to care?
Shaking my head, I can only sustain my forced laughter
You should be rendered helpless,
Struck by the savage talons of your unforgivable sins

With your very hands you captured my blood—my innocence
You drove me into utter submission
Until I fell subject to your every whim
You curled your reedy fingers around my lingering grin,
Tearing it away from my face in pure rapture

My draining features became your foundation for pleasure
I slowly began to take your form,
And all you could do was bring me closer to your murky shadows
I was your fervent and sinister embrace,
One that you couldn’t release

I remained at your mercy, surrendering my life
Escaping from your filthy grasp,
Stripping myself of the beauty of childhood,
My soul was lost to my own salvation

Even still, I cannot break away from the residual emotions
I long for the space that remains unfilled
I won’t let my heart take satisfaction in your pain,
In the burning ember of your torment

Among our stained past there are still alluring memories
Of the man you once were,
My father.

~Lost~

I can’t see you
Beaded sweat pours down my face,
Mimicking the coldness and eternity of death
The small light that embraces my room is fair,
One of nightmarish reveries and dim starlight
And I can’t see you

Is it fear that provokes my lurching heart?
Am I a victim to the constancy of your helplessness?
My darting eyes cannot adjust to the darkness
That I have created out of spite

I let anger take me in its arms,
Wrapping me in its hypnotic heat
Unable to face your mistakes as they reared before me,
I ran, letting them capture your pleading form
I ignored your voice—cast aside your calls

Guilt pulses, and your cries become mine
Yet silence is all that can be uttered
For within the tainted bindings of my crisis,
There is nothing that can be said

My breath whispers to me softly
As I realize that I am the one who is lost
I have fallen subject to this trepidation that surrounds me,
Letting myself push you away
And now I can’t see you.

~Needles~

My eyes are shrouded with a foreboding haze
My heart beats faster as something cuts through my gaze
Relief I find in the very thing I hate,
Calling me into this translucent, mindless state

I have no dictation over my numb body that is caught
By the tearing arms of the very thing I wish I had not sought
Hovering over myself like an apparition—a heeding ghost
I wonder how I've become such a thriving host

I watch as my skin is pierced, my flesh torn
My expression is distant and frozen, my eyes hard and forlorn
Grasping for my own hand that I cannot reach,
I begin to feel morbid, ill, paralyzed of speech

There is no salvation in my obscure path,
Only a dead end that I am quickly hitting with remorseful wrath
I have lost myself to it, trapped by the hinge
Of my meaningless existence, this bloody syringe.

~Painful Salvation~

Pain courses slowly through my body
Like a deadly virus,
Killing me in a searing harmony of cries

How is it that I lose myself to this pain,
Unable to resist the sweet temptation of relief?
My heart yearns for simple redemption,
But my mind revels in a darker fate

It tells me—its voice hypnotic and droning—that I should run
I should fall into a separate pain,
Sheltering myself from the first…
Yet somehow I find that discontent is quickly filling me
Because of my mind’s supposed sanctuary

My body and soul are now immune to the comfort
That was once offered
Instead I am infused only with my own cravings—my own urges

The once bright world has dimmed into a dull state,
One that I can’t imagine taking pleasure in,
But still I find that I long for it
I want to be caught in the midst of that darkened place;
It is my haven—my addiction.

~A Bloody Melody~

My heart weeps with yours
A blended, mournful melody
That carries itself through the cold night wind

A loss of love and life
Has become my one coherent thought
Countless nights I’ve spent
Sifting your blood through my fingers

Still, the stain remains
Like an unheeding scar,
A constant reminder of what I’ve done
And what I’ve lost

I gaze at it through grief-stricken eyes,
Knowing that it was me
I was your darkness

I was the shadow cast over your shoulders,
Weighing you down with my haunting existence
I wanted to let you run from me
But I couldn’t keep myself from your alluring warmth

You were the only light beating
Against my frozen memory,
Melting it slowly,
Drawing me away from my unkempt past

But your blood is still on my hands...
Forgive me.

~A Rolling Sea~

A cerulean blanket,
Bashing against the surface,
And waving gently to the clouds
It glitters softly in the peering sunlight,
Dancing a slow two-step with each ray

But underneath that iridescent exterior
Lies a darkness,
Its secret kept under a watery barrier,
Billowing with the tainted keepings of the bottom,
Dying to fully emerge
And instill its bloody presence in the atmosphere

Still, the light holds it captive
Below its glistening top
And as it casts a smile at the still, lit world
The sea rolls.

~Ink~

Words flow, practically emanating from my mind as I write
Each syllable as haunting as the next
With my pen scraping and my heart throbbing, I begin to lose sight
Of myself as I am caught in an endless smog that I have vexed

As I leave myself among the pages, my mind is filled
With the painful past I've kept between the cracks of my walled soul
Memories are revisited and fulfill their havoc on my heart that's been killed
By the very thing I write about--the man who blantantly stole

The innocence I once held within me that's now a seething vapor
The atmosphere is infused with my stifled cry
And as I trace my fingers over the ink on my paper
I remind myself that it's not half as dark as I.

~Frozen~

Time is a constant ebb and flow
A river of emotion and fulfillment
But he has isolated himself from it
He is overcome with an intense immunity to it
An iciness that has frozen him in one moment

All he can do is watch the world go by
While he lets an evilness have full dictation over his life
In every way
He is submissive to it
He let it capture him with its time-stopping claws

A pair of penitent eyes watch this
Mine
I want to dispel the barrier of imperviousness to the world
That he has been shrouded with
But he won’t let me
His heart cannot be kindled

So we live our separate lives
He dedicates his to something that will eventually destroy him
And like time
All I can do is pass him by.

~My Blackness~

I'm yearning
Hurting for escape
From this blackness
That has become an eternal part of my soul

My life now seems empty
A void that cannot be infused
Such a hole
I have come to loathe

For filling it is the only way
To alleviate my haunted soul
And to dispel the blackness

But it still lurks within me
Destroying my perspective
Obliviating me
I want to run
But I can't hide from something I created.

~Behind The Glass~

Your hair is too neat, lips too pale.
Your smile still clings to your face.
Your hands gently folded on your bosom.
You are a flawless doll, unreachable behind the glass.
You are too young to sleep alone in the dark.
You left too fast without a good-bye.
You reached your destiny too early.
You are at one with eternity.

My hair is moist, lips shivering.
My sorrow still strikes my heart.
My fingers quiver in my freezing fist.
I am a tranquil puppet, noticeable in the glass.
I am too old to live with only my anguish.
I was disillusioned too slowly with my survival.
I remembered your departure too late.
I am at one with the earth.

Who's the face on the glass with those tears still wet?
Who's the face behind the glass with those charms still enchanting?
Who is still puzzled by the coming days alone?
Who no longer feels the pain and grief?
Whose body is in earth?
Whose heart is in earth?

Dry tears, silent screams, numbed mourning, lost memory,
All are locked behind the glass,
From now till then.

~Flouting Tradition~

My son denies he is like me,
his dark mysterious eyes avoid mine.
He reveals the hatred of my generation
shrouded behind music, TV and radio.
I want to tell him the truth,
about myself.
The truth we constantly deny,
where whispers are subdued.

I deny I am like my father I remember why:
He was a slave to his parents,
a prisoner of tradition.
Defiance smothered with the desire
to be that perfect, obedient child.
No, not me! I want to break tradition.
To emancipate myself,
from that clone of generations long gone.

My son denies he is like me,
his eyes, barriers preventing communication.
Nude images of Madonna, Spice Girls and Mariah Carey
flash through his mind, once the temple
of purity.
He mirrors my aging.

He has flouted tradition.

~A Fisherman~

My grandfather was a fisherman
No, not in the Christian sense—a fisher of men
But a man with a rod and a reel, a line, bait on the hook
A fisherman

Me,
I hate fishing.
The waiting
The worms
Did you know that a worm has five hearts?
Have I mentioned that I wanted to be cremated?
And then there's the cleaning.
I'd stay in the bedroom—a pantywaist he'd say—
and try not to hear
the scrick scrick of scaling
the flubbup of guts on the table
How could one not love fishing?

He was a fisherman.
And a word alchemist
Instead of transmuting lead into gold
He changed fiberglass
To fabricgas

It sounded like a mistake,
But we could never be sure

He told us of
His phonographic memory
Had he mispronounced a word
Or could he really remember every thing that he'd heard?

He spoke of radical tires.
At first, we thought 'radial'
But wouldn’t radical tires better suit
A man with a certificate
In offensive driving
And that we knew to be true.

"Jeez Louise, did'ja see that ol' geezer stopped in the middle of the intersection readin' a map."

He wasn't a driver.
He was a fisherman. He was a word alchemist. He was a builder
Cottage, boat, dock, deck
If it was made of wood, he could build it
He knew how to handle a hammer and a nail
A saw and a carving knife
a hook and a scaling knife
He knew the skills of sharp things
Hard things
Sharp words
To sever relationships,
Cut away the deadwood of family and friends
Hard words
To hammer down trust to a thin sheet of tolerance

I saw him last year.
My mother drove us up to the nursing home.
She warned us . . . he has this story. If he starts off on it just pretend you're listening. Don’t bother to interrupt, because he'll just keep on going until he gets to the part about the doctor laughing. It always starts the same way . . . I never worked in the factory.

Ten minutes later
He starts:
I never worked for the factory you know. Not in the factory. Not for Dupont. They just put that down to keep the books right and proper. Keep the pencil neckers in line. I was a guide—a fishing guide. I knew all the best times and all the best spots so when business fellas come up from the city, I'd take 'em out. They'd catch their fish, and they'd be happy as clamps. That's what they paid me for. I was a fisherman. Now this one day, I take these three fellas from Tronna out on the lake. First thing happens is that one of these fellas is casting, and you can tell he doesn’t know a rod from Adam, and what does he do but he casts his hook right into the top of my head. He tugs on it a few times and I shout at him to stop tugging. So he stops. But the hook is stuck in my head see. Right here. You can still see the scar. I pull it out and the other fellas turn all white... guess no one bleeds in Tronna. So one fella says "we better get you to the hospital" but I say no, I'll be just fine. I hold a rag to my head and stop the bleedin. It hurts like bejeezus, but I have a flask of whiskey and I take a sup from time to time. We were out on the lake all morning. The fellas caught their fish and went back to Tronna. So when I get to the doctor he tries me on once for size and says: 'looks like I'm gonna have to stitch that up. Better give you something for the pain'. And I just take another sup of whiskey and says, doc, you go right ahead and do whatever you gotta do. I ain't feeling much of anything right now. And he laughs and he says to me 'that so, well I wouldn't mind a little of what you're havin.'

Laughter-pig snort of vitality-dissolves to a sob
Fades, transforms
And then he finds what he's been looking for.
He starts again...
I never worked in the factory you know. Not in the factory.
He's found it again.
Hook-gouged head
Whiskey anesthesia

His phonographic memory is skipping

He died a few days later
His life distilled to single morning
A fishing trip becomes a career
A life
Alchemy
Mutating
Building
Dismantling

But in the end, he was
A fisherman.

I won't begrudge him this
After all, how many of us
Can read the clouds and the currents
Can understand the shallows and the depths
Can find the perfect spot?

~Ethical Love~

Break into the room in a mess stealthily
Quiet - sh...
Bewitching cologne seeping
I see he dance
Letter in pink I read absorbedly
A kiss with a sign - Rose
Another Mary, another June, in blue and yellow
Is ire from the loving whispers in the letters?
or the love, time and body shape I've sacrificed?
Why can I love you but not kiss you?
The paper on the desk is getting wet.

All the pretty young girls know my existence
As I am always on your wall in the surfaced dimension
Young, charming, satisfied, I wear scarlet hug my babe

Tidying up is my job
Long hair on the bed is not unusual
But some straight some curly makes my eyes freeze
Marrying is the only way to please me

Finish the job close the door
Turn a corner and open the door
Lying on my bed atop a floral pattern
Smelling the medicinal oil on the pillow
Starring at the digital picture on the wall
An old woman sitting next to an eminent looking young man
I am proud with sour.

~A Child's Sandal~

In the early morning,
walking to the bus,
I see a yellow sandal
hanging on the end
of a branch of a tree
in the green ravine,
a size so small it has to be
for a child of two or three.

How did it get there?
Someone picked it up
from a rubbish dump?
Too cute to leave behind?
Was the mother carrying
so much she did not know
the child had dropped
a sandal? Or was it thrown
through a window from a home
in the block nearby? If so, why?
Were there adults quarrelling,
a child crying at the door?
Did the man have a mistress
and the wife wish to kill
herself? Was it just
the sandal that was flung?

Where is the child now?
Does it have shoes to wear
somewhere?

~Behind the Glass~

Your hair is too neat, lips too pale.
Your smile still clings to your face.
Your hands gently folded on your bosom.
You are a flawless doll, unreachable behind the glass.
You are too young to sleep alone in the dark.
You left too fast without a good-bye.
You reached your destiny too early.
You are at one with eternity.

My hair is moist, lips shivering.
My sorrow still strikes my heart.
My fingers quiver in my freezing fist.
I am a tranquil puppet, noticeable in the glass.
I am too old to live with only my anguish.
I was disillusioned too slowly with my survival.
I remembered your departure too late.
I am at one with the earth.

Who's the face on the glass with those tears still wet?
Who's the face behind the glass with those charms still enchanting?
Who is still puzzled by the coming days alone?
Who no longer feels the pain and grief?
Whose body is in earth?
Whose heart is in earth?

Dry tears, silent screams, numbed mourning, lost memory,
All are locked behind the glass,
From now till then.

~Is it Really Autumn?~

His voice murmurs the tale of gaunt wind at my neck’s back,
And at the murky street corner, and in the midst of autumn.
His song reverberates–chimes even–amongst the shattering color of my season.
I say it’s my season (It was supposed to be); my freedom should have
Caressed light beyond the hills with its gentle embrace, even against the wind.

Lingering across my skin,
His breath still stammers–and not in fear does it stammer–like a tree’s whisper
To the moon. “I will touch thee in time.”
He’s there. That surly smile lurks cushioned on rolling clouds,
Blackening the horizon, the once vibrant dancer... The sun dissipates
Cruelly beneath his jeering laughter. Oh, he is here now.

Scream at him.
Run from him.
Kiss him.
Tell him you can’t.
But tell him you will.

My words are like a silent creek, running past him. (What does he hear?)
“Take me,” I say. “Do what you will. Don’t hold back.”
No! Autumn was supposed to be my season...

~Frustration~

Don’t gaze with that snide smirk stamped to your immortal lips.
I won’t let you watch—my free soul has long since flown into your waiting chamber.
I am blind by your audacity, you thief of bliss! And you do blissfully filch it.
To take a lover, a border you did cross
Into my locked windows of most unconditional odium. Taking two,
You rot in each of my heart’s corners.

You, oh Holy, do frolic, content as a sifting stream. And is it so,
You forget to touch each of us with promised grace?
I seize in the back of my closet with shadows, for you have taken her…
Did I owe you my child, Lord? No—not am I to be indebted,
Not to one who has passed over me, shouting,
“Mercy all around for all but some of you!”

Here is your sacred book in my hand, and here it is in pieces,
Mimicking what you have done to that soul you did chamber,
And you can keep it! Your torment is not my aspiration.
Detach your eternal hands! I’ll see you soon enough…

~Pages (Be Kind, Sweet Fate)~

The book, it shivers at the end of shoddy silk,
Shredded and grisly as its binding keeper,
And I, tethered between the pages of its interminable word,
I am this lowly peasant in the midst of war, gripping my shawl tightly.
The cruel winter did once promise me cold would dwindle.
My fire is owed. To kiss my skin, it would blaze a soul redeemed.

Lo, sweet girl, spread across the pages like nothing I have seen before—And all I can do is watch her, watch the end of her being.
It was as if fate took her hauntingly as to use her for some gain...
If only I could jump into the parchment and save her from her hideous demise!
But nothing, not a single thing, in the entire world could let such a fantasy become…
So I watch—and scream her name… Maybe that is all I can do to help her.

But too much is it for winter to pass a light—to turn a page.
Death sleeps at my side, but never does it embrace this frozen form.
Aloft a raven does soar, as my broken fallacy, for warmth was never intended.
There is emptiness within the book’s final word, such that must be infused.
I shake a fist at the beaded night. Have I paid my debt?

Debt? A debt for what? Has she lost her mind?
Debts are things that go punished when unpaid…
A sigh escapes my lips yet again… could this girl have brought her own fate?
Has she become the very demise she so very wanted to escape?
Everything she thinks she deserves is bound to happen unless she tries…
Sweet, sweet Fate… Be kind to her…

My eyes did drown in blood, a curtain billowing with pounding despair.
Save me, oh winter breathing slick fear at my neck.
I let your hosts slip me inside pockets of fettering loneliness, a slave to their whims.
I threw my heart blindly to fill the end, swiftly as the raven did hit the cool ice,
Lost in you, winter. Is it enough?
Where is my fire?

Something… She wants to be filled, but with what? I cannot say.
Is it true love that could possibly cause her happiness?
Even within the coldest depths, there is something that can warm her.
If only I knew, if only I could help her…
Maybe I could search throughout the parchment between my fingers-
There must be something she’s missing… Something.

And if there were never a fire to give, may I lie down?
I beseech this nightmare to draw its starry face away from mine.
I cannot breathe between these pages.

I loathe the closed portal the rests between the two of us…
This book… Oh, how I long to destroy its appealing sheathe
But I cannot do anything but scream her name.

The screams reign eternal... As the winter...

~The Perspective of Paranoia~

In a closet, I lie—the darkness lurks in silence.
Oh, savoring silence that sits, breathing curtly down my neck.
“Stop!” I say. “I know you’re there!”
Cruel wind, cruel shadows… I see them all
Perched behind my windowpane, suffering a smile.

A man and his companion—his pointed companion—wait
Behind my door, whispering toxic melodies. And like rain against my ear,
A young girl, translucent, wispy, sings her taunt:

Look out! Look out!
There he is behind you!
Run away! Flee! Shout!
He’s coming to get you!

I see the blade, its glistening face… My eyes touch the man.
He is darkness—he is silence, and when I turn, he is nothing.
Does he seek his torment at my front now? Oh, yes!
The spiders that tickle my neck with abrading claws say so!

He waits like a distant scarecrow. Soar unto him, raven!

A raven? Oh, where? Death awaits those ‘neath its lonely silhouette.
My eyes dart in rapid tempo, my heart’s reflection.
The spiders crawl, the girl sings…That man is there!
Waiting, waiting… He’ll kill me yet!

He sees me running, eternally running…

~I See them Kissing~

Earth, sinners call fervently to you,
You mangled mind. I see them bask in that soil,
Slathering adulterous bodies across your embrace,
Green warmth tickling the remnants of all that is so evil.
You are (So evil).

Sing to me, sweet piano of Earth—play your distant melody:
Sin, round and round. I see it sway. And why?
Why may it not melt as late snow—as that smile you used to wear?
Earth did smile (In the days when smiles were abundant indeed.)

I want the sin, I do; I am among Earth’s sinners.
But that grin, beautiful and flamboyant, it’s plaguing,
Plaguing as evil does—as you do, Earth.
These strings sticking through my silence hold to that.

I cannot be freed or tempted to glance at your grin.
Street lights, graffiti: artwork of the damned.
I hear your tune now, and I do not pay mind to it.
It comes from my lips, the sinner’s lips.

Earth’s kiss.

~But I Did~

As the fire lit his face
I didn't want to look but I did
there was murder in his eyes
I didn't want to look but I did
he sharpened his knife under my eyes
I didn't want to look but I did
I regret it now