Of Mortals

Lost again inside these rolling folds
The deeper colours curling
Washing over me in nocturnal turmoil
Try to pry away my mind all you like
Still I can hear the slowness in the lips
Your tongue is laden with latency
I will not resist the pull awaiting in those furls
Would time allow me to rewrite the world
I would find myself admitting truths
To the wondering pathways of my slumber

Lie in Wait

These flashing lights offer fleeting stability.
Foreshadows of a fragile fertility.
With no way to mark depth,
Stagnation deteriorates ability.
Your lack of self-respect is more than debilitating.
I wish I had the knowledge to hack into brain waves.
Cut through some secret garden path.
See past the defense you are displaying.
But your face was fantastic at understanding.
There is venom in your veins.
The secret strike is waiting.

Sick Stats Bruh!

I hope that someone is in fact,
Keeping track of my entire life.
All these mundane things.
How many doors I've opened.
How many times I swallowed gum.
These things outweigh the monumental.
And in that way are good.
I care not for the triviality of greater deeds.
My curiosity lies in the finer times.
How often I have blinked.
I'd read a novel 20 times,
Were it all the things I've spoken in my sleep.
But in the blistering truth of reality.
I know that no one but my self,
Is keeping track of me.

Come One Come All

I know what follows here.
So bend an ear,
And lean in near,
Should you be so daring.
The outcome is not queer
If you observe things,
Recurring.
I assure you there is nothing that can be done.
To ward the effects from all and one.
So embrace your fate.
Seek solitude in knowing,
There is torture in all fun.

The Wormhole World

Drunk on divinations
Constant contemplation
All this counterproductive construction
Is perilous at best
Give bestiality a rest
Within the chest of hallowed hands
A hole for holding is unopened
Not this trope again
Blasphemy is nothing if not pain
And fat is left unrendered
Torn asunder like so many an unconscious gaping soul
I failed the test

Teach A Man To Fish.

I wish I could be that for you.
I wish I could be there.
Where you need when you need it.
I long to hold you,
When time is desperate.
But that is not me.
That is not my purpose.
I will never be the one you are looking for.
For all my faults and flawed perspectives.
Despite my best intentions.
Whatever deep desire I am shirking,
To be what every one around me needs.
It will never be me.

Eat Less

This preliminary knee-jerk reaction has left me shaking
Teetering on this precipice.
I see no way back from the words I cast so easily
Seemingly they were the best to use,
But as the answer swoons into view
I see my folly.

A little bit more

Slight wisps of air are rushing up to meet me
The feeling a surprise to my shins
But on I push
As if nothing can stop this running thought
With an urgency that would make my father proud
I overlook the dark and growing clouds
With one more burst of oxygen
One last thought of defeat
I cross a line existing only in my mind
No team to greet me sweetly
No flowers laid at my feet
This triumph, seemingly, alone is mine.

Shame Sham

I stand all amazed at the things that cause me shame
Most often naked in the light of blinding truth
Behind closed doors I feel the staring
As if a camera on a crane
Is arcing down and peering simply through the roof

Lamesville

Most of the time,
I am particularly uninspired.
The only thing I seem to lack more,
Is motivation.
Perhaps it is a curse
As much as it is a blessing.
But pulling myself up and out,
Might be easier with a reason.

Front Row Seat

I have reached a point in this investment
Where it would be advisable
To "Cut your losses"
But there is a resonating problem therein.
You see:
It breaks down to the difference between quantity and quality.
The scale is certainly tipped toward the cons.
If you are looking at sheer numbers.
I mean,
These losses are substantial.
Not only that but they are growing exponentially.
With new hole springing every day,
The ship is well know sinking,
And it will be fire and rubble and caskets before long.
However, that synapsis is overlooking one huge thing.
The quality,
Of the only thing,
Residing on the pros side.
Yes it is small in number.
Small as you can get before non-existence in fact,
But size matters not,
And the payout is substantially greater than all the turmoil and toil of ten-fold the losses.
So,
You see,
I would be impossible for me to just,
Cut ties.
Turn tail,
And leave this now.
Plus, Who doesn't want to watch a train crash in slow motion?

The Gift of Screens

All the years of laughter.
All the plot twists and surprise endings.
Every new season.
Each character introduction and passing.
I'd trade it all for some genuine passion.

Every status updated.
Each picture posted.
Every refresh button clicked.
Every clever meme embraced for it's potent brevity.
I would trade all of that for a taste of sincerity.

Every sequel that was worth common name.
All originality how ever few and far between.
Every bit of light captured on film for the future.
I would trade it all,
For a glimpse of physical things in person.

Short and Long Term

My memory is completely failing me.
An equal blur for everything.
Save a few syncopated staccato moments.
Juxtaposed clarity in the void.
Some vivid second of joy,
Or a clever turn of phrase.
A time I was caught in a lie by someone I respected.
Most common: times of pain.
These few things make up what I know of the person I was.
Something like a patchwork foundation.
This thatch-work walkway from missed menstruation to man.
What failing memory offers me,
Are enough things to barely count on two hands.
And those I often need strain to replay.
Every time I am in a new moment of triumph,
Or terror,
I wonder if I will get to keep it.
"Will I hold on to this?"
"Will it make the cut?"

Likely it will fade like those I've come to forget I'd ever known.

Where Have You Been?

Altogether pleasant
What this is unfolding
The choice made in the past
Come to fruition
Granting me what I had hoped for
Even more it seems
Time can now pass unnoticed
This conduit
My eyes
Engorge  upon the find in front of me
While this visage is unwinding
And the pulse is rising
A voice of fear and warning
Constant in the concrete part of my mind
It will not be silenced
Hunger never sated

  

I have felt it in my skin,
As if the cold is setting in.
Winter clawing at my bones,
Without and within.
Shortly i'll be giving out.
No fire can keep me up.
But I will still find time to satisfy my sins.

Dinner's Drank and Evening Is On The Rise

My reprisal is short on arrival.
The mission will have failed by nightfall.
I still align my spine skyward.
For quite a long time I have been caring for my denial.
Acutely aware that I am incapable of making decisions final.
Constantly oscillating on a sine,
Between meaningful and benign.

Strong Drink

This potion is potent
Even for me
It poses a portent
My unraveling
No distance to short
For the thread to travel
But I pull it all the same

Some 'Kinda' Monster.

I prefer to take my social interaction.
Ground-up and mixed-down.
Willingly trapped under a weight of sounds.
These flashing light weekends.
And the throbbing brain mornings they give birth to.
"I can keep this up for always."
Regardless of the consequence,
I hold it in my hand.
I know and understand.
I surely mean to.

Make The Devil Blush

The fearful minds of children startle easily it seems.
Every unknown animosity personified as beasts.
Some monster or some demon
Or malicious creeping thing.

But as adulthood brings on starkness,
A much more 'real' fear enters in.
When squinting through the darkness,
We see a different type of sin.

It is not imagined monsters
that send chills upon our spine
As adults we know that real danger
Lurks far outside of our minds.

The variation in our species
Is the place where 'evil' lives
The things that other humans do.
Is unimaginable by kids.

It would be simple to write off terror,
To some unknown race of creatures.
The truth is much more scary.

The fact that malice lives only inside the human race.

This morning it looked in a mirror.

This morning it washed it's face.

Unconfirmed Side Effects

I landed abruptly
Somewhere on the speculative spectrum.
Remember the make-believe mental malady.
This made up, makeshift, malcontented man.
Imagined by those who've known no pain.
But over the course of this troubled history,
Whether fact or factitious,
All things were made up.
All understanding is make-believe,
And my abnormality is nothing but a winking figment,
Stuck under the contact lens of a lie.

What hits the bottom?

I stayed up all night for this sunrise.
More of a side effect of my failed drive,
A remnant of this yearning for change.
The whiskey helps as much as it hinders.
I exist now only in neutral contentment.
Or am I setting?

Infinite Fallibility

You will find no solid ground to stand upon.
No solace to be had in this self fulfilling proclivity.
Something will drag on through these dredges.
Out in front some visage pulls you onward.
Forever off the resting heels.
You will never feel the shifting of weight.
Caught in a constant motion
Constantly chasing shadows of a future self,
That never was or can be.

Horcrux

I've poured my self into you.
Three were made from splitting two
and keeping it together through the forces tearing.
The truth is too hard to form for you.

I lost my sight inside of you.
In spite of you.
As if by some design so am I blind by you.
No innovation separated what we made.
No words we spake can truly undo.

Starchy

I am nothing but a staple in your life
Living here beside the meat
Important enough to overlook and willingly left for last
These afterthoughts are worse for ware
and the silver is tarnished in your likeness
We can never come back to this for the brevity
But standing upright in your eyes I may be stiff again
In my time

All in good time

Despite the years of experience
The body still surprises.
When lying fires deny
What is behind the eyes.
The hiding truth is lying.
Deny the hope that's vying,
While biding is not buying,
The blinding light is trying.
To reveal the fine tooth's sliding
What the timeless sleuth is finding.

Barbie's Legs

Something is wrong and it was done to you.
Still,
It was my choice to run with you.
The plastic and rubber taste in my mouth,
Will change nothing in truth.
Despite the temporary oral satisfaction.
While these teeth are gnashing,
I fake a burst of passion.
While living in the past tense,
The memory is merely glancing,
But it is your whole foundation.

Can I

Is there ever a hope?
Will I ever really break my chains?
I mean,
I built them myself
Affixed them to my own neck
This weight I hand selected
and these manacles are taught
Will I ever break my bonds?
Do I really want to?

A patient painter I am not

I don't want this life that I have trapped myself in.
Like I started at the door when I painted the floor
Now my only way out is messy
Who has time for patience?

Where has the time gone
It seems like one long day
with everything the standard same
This boredom is my own doing
And something like my undoing
But the fault is my own
and I am cracking at the seams

In the beginning

In the beginning,
I allowed my self to be led by my desires.
The thrill was stil intact.
The controls was still my will.
But time has tarnished the mirror of my soul.
And things I once enjoyed casually,
Are now required for a day to pass through normally,
Wants have become needs.
And my time is no longer my own.