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I can’t write for fear of a broken tongue, burning as a

Spiraling monster spilling out confused thoughts;

Ideas traveling from top of head to roof of mouth

 

Why speak when the noise is heavy, serving only as a

Constant reminder of fragile ears hearing rumors;

Weighted down truth from what is and what isn’t

 

Maybe blinded eyes see more than what we perceive of them

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Where do you house your hate?

To be pulled out when needed

To lose mouth for virtue of wit

Or, what you choose to believe as such…

———————————————–

I slipped on the edge and fell

Down into the hole of hell

No one dares to look into the well

Claiming innocents of ourselves

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To read is to acknowledge The Others, controlled as

Writers in waiting to avoid the contact with oily flesh;

Skin’s difference of one person vs the next

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Hate

I feel it beat

Break, burn, bleed

The heart is weak

 

Greed

It’s not me

I am healthy

How disgusting

 

Anger

Or is it despair?

I wander aimlessly

Deciphering the difference

 

Hope

Always constant

Perhaps a bit cynical

But it’s there

Monthly Archives: May 2015

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Walls

Posted on May 3, 2015 by MuseWriter

 

 

There are no feelings within

the Walls of the mind

Complete thoughts firing synapses

through flesh and muscle

The brain functions as a

mechanical device

housing memories like a computer

constantly downloading

worthless data

Secret storage spaces of environmental

and instinctual reactions

That guide the responses of self from subconscious afflictions to

Questions we ask ourselves over and over

Age isn’t a relevant factor within

The epiphany

Only the progressing stages of heartache and pain do we recognize

Chapters building up to tell a shaded view of the stories

This idea of a place for the outcasts to introduce the variety of life that exist outside the Walls

And what that means to the World

The Bastards of situational learning

who hide behind the understanding of

the obtainment of ‘knowledge’

Choosing choice and creation as a

slave to temptation of beauty

Or something like it

The breathers of life

The shadows of death

Legions of heavy heads contemplating

every thought

When the mind goes from basic functioning

and dips into the layers within

We forget / We forget / We forget

 

Monthly Archives: May 2014

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Just another day…

Posted on May 21, 2014 by MuseWriter

Stumbling about
the elite of kamakazi grasshoppers
Divebombing from root to leaf to bark to stone
Criss-crossing across the
bleached pavement before
my step catches up
The tall grass stalks sway
And the shadows mimic
the trees overhead
The colorful movement and
mixture of every green
Imaginable

Then there was John Lennon
driving a yellow vw bug
Glasses and all,
Reincarnation of man and car
Checking into the 904
Or wherever that road
leads down to
Somewhere

At the end, my pathway was blocked
by slimy demons asking
the questions everyone is
wondering, not that it really matters
But there they were with all
of the intimidation that only
half-wit monsters can muster
More impressed with portrayal
of deception, rather than a
More relatable diversion, like,
Whatever

Just another day…

 

The Book

Posted on May 11, 2014 by MuseWriter

At the bottom of a box I found a book

A thrill, really

An excitement to begin someone else’s story,

without really knowing anything about

any of it

 

The pages turned, the words placed elegantly

across the off-white surface

Calligraphy adorning the beginning

of each chapter, the first letter of

the first word

 

The writer was good in displaying his craft

Creating time portals for lost souls

to try to find their bodies again

A fascinating relation of one person haunting her while

she haunted him

The battle of love

retold in the countless war stories

of the oldER, ordER

 

I opened the book wide

Folded it out and laid it upon the wooden

desk, as I continued to

flip, flip, flip

not noticing the time

passing or the music echoing somewhere

from some corner

of the room

 

Until I stopped on open blank pages;

as if it didn’t even exist

The story just ended

 

Memories

Posted on May 9, 2014 by MuseWriter

We were talking

as we always tend to find ourselves

Midconversation, without even realizing

we’ve said anything

Words of explanations to escape the pain of

dealing with it all firsthand

A discharge of the unhappy breath of

a man known as nothing, and me observing;

what is it we claim to believe, really again?

He looked at me with an intensity

that only he could seem to produce

The words spewing from his lips in

a disgusted contempt

A snarl changing the shape

of his face;

as he thought about what he was saying

“NO!”

I said

The only word I was brave enough

to interject his vent

To disrupt his train of thought and offer an

attempt to break through the brick wall

of his layers of strength and of sickness

Overlapping and intertwining

intermixing with the drugs he’s been buying

In result, the mind turning on, off, on, off

A familiar repetition to anyone who’s ever been

afraid to feel

I saw it then, the look in his eyes

The flicker of fire

Somehow he’s managed to

still have a shadow of smoke

burning inside

I couldn’t breathe

As if he needed my breath then

sucked it into himself

to fill himself up with the thoughts

running around in my head

and the feelings that I’ve felt

A quick gaze into my soul to

continue his practices of exploration

Never thinking that he could

open himself up to me

As he stood there vulnerable to comfort

facing in my direction

As if we somehow forgot the threaded string

roping us together

Chest to Chest

There was never a mirror, nor a piece of glass

There are no fairy-tales nor explosive tragic endings

 

There are only the imprinting golden lights of

memories shining in our dreams

Who cares what to believe anymore

Monthly Archives: May 2013

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Every Word

Posted on May 30, 2013 by MuseWriter

There is a light, an internal glowing sun
Radiating heat throughout the entirety of the world
A belief built up of mortared truths;
Or, thought provoking definitions of feelings expressed.
I believe, more than what’s real to view, of me,

of the unmistakable bonding of a mental language intertwined with faith.
To understand just enough to conceive that more leads to more
These unpredictable side roads that find themselves heavily traveled with those of

us searching for the back way home.
To battle and win against the timeless tickings of today, fight the hidden figure of patience

and submit to eternal prayer;
Or, the self-reflections that illuminate the beating heart, burrowing its tomb within.
Acknowledging all of the players willing to lessen the burden of carrying the weight of the

water pumping out of the ground
The sustenance flowing towards life, engaging in the act of unrealistic domination.
Even when we found ourselves underwater, we knew that we are never really alone
Enough hope offered to help keep afloat from drowning in the layers of theories and plans;

Connecting to sound and listening to every word.

The Last Chapter

Posted on May 25, 2013 by MuseWriter

Permanently stamping the bold letters that spell out “The End”

Realization, that you could wait until after the completion of the last chapter.

What will you do when you remember what it means to be a man, to be human, and feel the guilt resonating from the bottom of heel to each of your sweaty palms?

To allow yourself the freedom to hide your faces behind the random psalms,

organized attention and commitments of social importance,

So that no one can see the many personalities available for view and for purchase;

A kind of fake love offered to the highest bidder

To watch you climb up the social ladder,

Trying to soar higher than all of us who could never compare

As you scout the land for an Utopian spot with the greenest grass,

Examine every blade until you’re sure it’s better than all of the rest

All of the while anchoring yourself down to expectations that

Will haunt you in your sleep, in your dreams, memories that you’ll one day regret

Shutting down any ounce that’s left of acknowledgement,

Encouraging each step towards forgetting what it means to live, to love

To self-reflect and see in yourself that being square will always be enough.

Sitting here with a bucket of rocks, throwing out each memory like smooth rainbow colored skipping stones

Letting go of the only piece of yourself that you left me with,

The questioning, the wondering if you ever loved me at all.

 

Pitter-Patter

Posted on May 22, 2013 by MuseWriter

A pitter-patter knocks out from inside the wall
The creature patrolling the parameters of his forest
For the popular wayward travelers such as Rumpelstiltskin and Red Riding Hood;
Such an awful imagination for a mouse.

Who always comes out, to offer a friendly goodnight
All of the while, only hiding behind the smiles
Of a shady cheek, covered by the various shades of darkness;
bouncing off of the several different glances of the loner’s only possible companion.

As I lie awake, always as of late
I don’t sleep, instead I try to memorize the counting of the sheep, until those said sheep bah out their names and stories; my favorite,
About a little girl and her little lamb
A daughter, child Mary
The objection to the ultimate salvation, to analyze and find specific temptations, as if on a mission to create:
A tender lovingness of youthful compassion, without abandon.

To abandon dreams because I can’t sleep, another opportunity to remember what to think, how to think
Listening to the mouse scurry, as if illustrating his own version of the story
The vermin, or just a thoughtful eye
Perhaps a reincarnation of a true romantic?

Tea

Posted on May 19, 2013 by MuseWriter

A simple pleasure, one sip to drink
Smooth clay ridge fired to perfection, sensual on open lips
One cup, maybe seconds
Steaming, steeping, boiling.

He loves me, He loves me not

Posted on May 17, 2013 by MuseWriter

The beginning petal falls, floating and twirling down until finding its resting place
The first question asked in regretful contemplation and resentment
A hope based off of the encouragement of the task
Keeping hands busy to avoid any idle mischief; temptations that haunt, linger in the shadows, staring in through the window.

The second piece flies, is set loose from its home, tossed aside; familiarity is boring
The truth sets in, of course there is no love, no respect, only judgment and selfishness.
A stem of a flower, an anchor of each fragrant blade, so tall and mighty
Holding up the fragile pieces of color, or at least claiming ownership, never wondering what it means to give itself to the admiring passerby

But when the riddle consumed the last pretty petal, the stem found itself alone
Just another blade of grass lost in the field.

We Succeed

Posted on May 13, 2013 by MuseWriter

I imagined that it was how you would look

Like the heat’s effect on a summer’s pavement

Flashes of an iridescent glowing, painting color on air,

Nothing; complex and magical

Mystical, in the way that makes one believe

To spread an offering of a love so pure, so strong, we can feel its warmth

Enveloping body, covering flesh in the sticky grasping of a humid sweat

Layers of awareness of body and self

And the connection of heat, the wonders of touch

Letting fire consume, tantalizingly engulfing, until the flame burns blue

Only visible through squinted eye

Shielded to protect, to tempt, to restrict

To limit the overall portrait so that

Nothing could ever be said against, to distort the meaning and convince

The mind of action, of punishment?

Only the worse kind of enslavement to endure

But we suffer and we succeed.

PineTrees

Posted on May 12, 2013 by MuseWriter

I am Muse Writer

A temptress of pen to mystify the responses of language

To gauge the limits of what it means to be “human”

and to suffer with the mortal heart;

Such a fragile shell of life, love

Pumping light through veins to fuel the soul

As passion ignites and bursts in certain moments of an unresolved absence of control

Self-inflicted tears to carve the pathways down, from the escaping break of my eyes

To remember the roads traveled, to remember each journey’s lesson

To believe, past the rational mind of a creator’s image;

The mirrored reflection of humanity and how it is represented to the person staring

Like me, into the glassy pane of contemplation

Of imagining a self-image and trying to capture the picture

The Polaroid to determine that who I see is me

Sometimes, I catch a hint of shadow that convinces the eye to glance again, asking to be noticed, remembered

And I travel;

As a creature flying higher than the average liver; a messenger of the night

Soaring over the ocean, wispy tendrils of hair sporadically flowing into the water

Until the forgotten sea monster swallowed me whole;

Being sheltered in the belly of one of Moby Dick’s monster spawn

Accepting the revenge of the memories that plague the inside of the creature’s stomach walls

Until abandoning ship and being spit out into the lost city of Atlantis;

A paradise for lovers.

And why my gift to give is a random thought of awareness that breaks through the night;

That can be seen by starlight, bright flashing beacons of truth that bow down to me, and you

One precious life, a willing heart to guard an Angel, a voice of Heaven

To know a man who outshines the light of the rest, creates a hunger

A thirst for knowledge and a taste of your acceptance in resistance, your calculations and stories

Everything

Because of course, there could never be a writer without a muse,

I decided this under the swaying pine trees of our home.

Crooked Railroad

Posted on May 10, 2013 by MuseWriter

Words to saturate the soul, creep in until you can’t see anything else
Humming tugs of blurred vision, thoughts that interact with more than the glowing glances of the last few moments
Shattering phrases to tempt the mind, to suspend forward motion and bend it a little
A crooked railroad of emotions traveling from city to city,
Underground, out of sight, faster than the speed of light
Digging holes deeper, down into the soil, rooting its new home
The poison seeks, seeps up from beneath the grass
Suffocating those who stop to smell the closest flower

Decorative Cameras

Posted on May 4, 2013 by MuseWriter

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Decorative cameras, retinas

Detaching from the surreal pictures that are swimming

Into the gates of hell where everyone is thinking

Contemplating the freeze frame while in the yellow wallpaper waiting room of decision making

Patiently preparing for a visit with the devil himself, sitting in old blue chairs with wooden arms to rest upon

To lean an elbow, and awkwardly gaze, self-analyze, examine,

Reflect, amongst the other dreamers, seekers

Who live dying until the dream exists;

Until the imaginary is real, not just one of the Grimm fairy-tales

Nor, any of the wayside memories;

for children to cherish as significant life lessons

To give certain feelings reasoning, more emotions to embrace the mind

To flow in and out of the barriers and beg to see a little more

To explore, what we all inherently wish to see

Even those who sleep;

Even the engineers, the inventors;

The magicians of the objects of the world

Using resources to create anything at all;

Even them,

With their calculations and evaluations, judgments

To harmonize the thinkers of society

To escape the walls that lock us inside of the 3D boxes

Letting numbers and letters flow interchangeably, shedding light only to those with the deepest sense of living

To understand when a unity is worth sacrificing and developing;

To design the story of a new picture-show movie that,

Will play the entire book of our lives

Blue-hue Figures

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Who is the wanderer

Wishing for contact

The imaginary wonder

Between night and day

Take these dreams

To keep them asleep

With their absent memories

Hushed in discovery

There’s a key

In this wicked scheme

And it’s with me

As I am, the keeper

Shadow silhouettes raise fist

In knocking attempts

Twisting hopeful access

Without entry

Blue-hue figures stay

To claim the palisade

Unknowingly entering

The sealed gate

To only run away

When confused thoughts sway

Into here and now

Of multiple realities

 

I am grateful for Monday afternoons❤

Ribbon Colors

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Let’s end this wretched business

Exhausted from waves of wishes

Desired ribbon colors shifting

Up and down up and down up and down

Existing on the isthmus

Stance imagined is weightless

Craving light blinding flashes

In and out in and out in and out

Contemplating foreign physics

Within the quiet of each decision

To finish thoughts with forgiveness

Life and death life and death life and death

 

I am grateful for quiet moments❤

 

Photo cred: wallpapersxl.com