"Untitled"
I remember the sent of your skin,
The golden candle light.
Satin touches of the cold breeze,
Your faint hums and sighs.
I remember wanting to crawl into you,
Wanting to reside in your flesh.
See me through your eyes,
To know what you want from me.
"Unwanted Guest"
The fear showed up today,
Packing a loaded gun,
Dressed in shards of glass,
And carsonogenic spandex tights.
Like an unwanted guest,
In my comfort zone,
Plaguing me with meaningles chit-chat,
Asking for my undivided attention,
While my world goes on around me.
And the trees change and the clock tics.
"Is that cancer I smell?" she asks.
Her breath smelling of salmonila,
And broken obligations.
She follows me, making me paranoid.
Influencing my decisions by her presence.
Bringing out only the insane in me.
I might as well give up.
Make a batch of anti-depresents and joints.
Sit back and avoid,
Deny,
Avoid.
Ghosts But no, I'm here held back,
Struggling, pensive with nothing,
To show for decades of life,
Except meaningless paper and
Meaningful dust coating everything.
I admire from affar the lives I wish to have.
Fearlessly, bravely on self destruct.
Legends walking into firing lines,
Speaking beautiful words written
By Hollywood screenwriters.
This is my instruction book for youth.
So high and mighty. I should
Just quit now. Live simply. |  |
"Disfunction"
Disfunction through
Self intimidation and
Fear soaked thoughts
Seeping through my eyes,
My hands,
My tongue,
Tasting metal liguid.
Running down my thighs,
Blood, resulting in loss.
Relief after heartbeats.
Dependency on the fear,
Of death,
Of life.
Disfunction is the only
Function for existence.
Denying opportunities,
To find...to find...
Uh...
Forgetting words that hurt,
Words that creep behind
And grab my neck.
Choking every idea out
Blackened swirling brain.
Suck it up...forget it...no problem,
Is an understatement of the
Hum that never stops,
But only lowers and
When it creeps and groans,
The fear sucks it up,
No problem,
Just forget it. |
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Woven The fabric never stops being woven,
Uneven, thin and thick, it is woven.
Some parts have holes eaten away
By moths chasing the light,
By mis-stitches and angry words.
I am constantly patching and weaving,
Hoping that someday I will be the completed
Tapestry of mismatches and contradictions,
Perfectly imperfect and decidedly
Sewn.
Driving 11/01 Listening to the road's heartbeat,
Thud against my wheels,
Knowing my way down the lonesome street,
And yet how foreign home feels.
Like a city creeeping from fog to be seen,
A traveler, with a detatched voice,
Keeping company, reminding of what's been.
Exit signs, turn signals, opportunities of choice.
If I kept going, what will result?
Mind takes those exits to see what exists.
Nothing but the same and life becomes default.
So this steering wheels strays not and resists.
Yawning engine, the moving cell,
This road to home, to family, to me.
How and what could've been, one can't tell.
Someday I'll turn the wheels, to be free. |
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