Credit: photobank.kiev.ua
we are all robots with our industrial legs and arms
emitting static data through chained sprocket mouths
chewing down on metal teeth while spitting out sparks;
tasteless words to condition into subjection
the accomplishment of production as day’s profit
obtaining satisfaction in facilitating the genocidal submission
with one’s own expiration date stamped axiomatically;
one by one we live, work, and die
I am grateful for the heavy hearts ❤
Memories and Reflections
12-12-13
Standing on the hill with a random breeze catching on
His strawberry hair ruffled and soft to the touch;
Succumbing to the force within the currents of the wind
The sun and the moon endure their usual aversion of each other
As they sit on their thrones to enjoy the splendor below;
Loving the thoughtless creatures of mortal limitations
Of this one in particular pretending magnificence
(As a peaceful representation of living in perfect harmony
and fighting the fear of indifference
while promoting beauty in the uncertainty,
or at least the everyday moments that the
World can be too busy to notice)
As the ordinary miracles catches his attention;
A man of notice and the gifts of perception
Breathing in the reality tasted by the events determined
From the recordings of the subjects in question;
Their memories and reflections of them
She’s Not Me
7-7-15
I heard all of the rumors and
The messages that she sent
I thought maybe I was her but
She showed me that we’re different
Her wounds bound her together and
Although they seemed similar
I knew that I was only myself, that
She was not me but someone else
Another drifter saying the same things
Thinking the same thoughts day to day
Except she claims to see more
As if she knows the future
Or maybe bits and pieces of our
Memories shaped together
Dagger
7-8-15
I’ve got the fire burning in my belly
My heart is pumping strong
There’s a few words I’ve been thinking
That lay balanced on my tongue
I thought you were my brother
I called you my best friend
But at the first chance you got
You shoved a dagger into my back
Supposed Friends
7-8-15
Calling all supposed friends!
Oh where Oh where have y’all been?
I’ve found myself among the wolves
Their howls keep calling me home under the moon
Have I died and been gifted a life reborn?
I woke up soaking wet and standing alone
Dripping droplets of their bitter scorn
Leaving puddles of poison on the floor
The grass is always greener in this war
Battles of greed to keep us wanting more
You can claim all of the fields of clover
A fake reign won’t live on forever
I am grateful for lost thoughts ❤
I vanished from this plane of reality and
found myself lost and delirious
Shutting eyes, to block out the distorted shapes with their blindingly confusing colors and patterns
My head slowly tilting to the left, either from the lack of strength or from trying to keep up with line of sight
My temples pounding, disconnecting from the rigidity of skin
Stretching out wide in fleshy cones of self, as far out as both arms’ reach
Before turning inward and sucking into touch together through brain
Spinning, spiinnning, noises, voices, worried feelings; paralyzed with only one concern or thought
Breathe….breathe….Breathe….
Spinning, spiinnning, movement, shouting, anxious feelings; paralyzed with only one concern or thought
Breathe….breathe….Breathe….breathe
I’m unsure of how many minutes were passed during my mental chant
My face pressed into the carpet, body heavy; cannot move, don’t dare to think, try to breathe, Breathe! Breathe!
My last abled act of motion, using thumb to pry mouth open;
hoping that the wider inhalation of air would suffocate the demons
facing me as I lay dying
“Please, I want to live”
My heartfelt plea meant to be shouted but only resulting in the salty tears mixing in with my body’s sweat
Even through the sickness of mind and of body, I realized my formal introduction to the Angel of Death
It was now or, it would just be at some other point in time, later
Death was curious as to who I was, who I am
He came into me and stole every hidden treasure and stone, even those buried beneath the memories I don’t try as hard to forget and also the ones that I haven’t even witnessed yet
I willed myself to move, to raise up, to escape, to do anything but
My body didn’t exist, the battle of my life raged within my head
Death demanding the best of myself at my most weakest state of mind;
My thoughts twisting into mixed up words and phrases, not making sense; my body’s determination for survival, shutting down all general processing abilities
And any hope to persuade Death
Death’s first impression must have convinced of his want for another crossed-out name;
the ambulance told to pull over
Death claiming
My heart stopping
Body shutting down
Death calculating
Fever dreams enveloped my time of awareness
Carnival scenes with raging blue sirens singing out the whirling voices of songs that I’ve sung on my own
Ambulance moving, consciousness blurred between fairytales and reality
The blood pumping, flowing
Death loosening his grips
My ever stubborn heart refusing to quit
I found myself lost within a World of shadows and hooded figures dressed in black
There was no pain except the unanswered questions of impatient confusions, floating within the Universe;
a space of quiet bliss with Death as my companion and my only friend
Motion, lights, pain, color, Pain!
LOUD NOISESSSES
stomach churning from my overconfident eyes that are crossing from the force of attempting to keep them open
Suffocating smells, cloth robe
White stickers attaching me to
the wires wrapped through my hair, under my back, around my legs, clipped to my fingers, shoved into my nose, taped to my chest, stuck into my arms
The beep Beep beep Beep beep Beep
waking me up in Hospital Room #13
I am grateful for battles won (September 15, 2014) ❤
You think you have us all?
Your hardened eyes of intimidation
Gazing out past your mind’s view being
directed by the tip of your nose
Egotistical, sprouting seeds of hate
that wilt in sickness in between every
sidewalk crack and old pavement road
of the crumbling cities
Spreading across the earth with the poisonous vapors
catching on the wind of all of the mouths;
breathing out silent screams of hatred, lust, and painful sorrows
Perfect white teeth, once braced, now
shielding the sharpest blade this place has ever heard
Twisting, rolling, folding, until truth is created
We ride tonight
We ride tonight
(Two times for the dramatic effect as it clicks in your head, remembering similarities)
Do you ever feel afraid at the repetition of intensity?
Snapping you out of your purchased complacency
brought to you, kindly, from advertised drugs
We’ve always said that our Ghost Horses
were better for riding through the clouds
I bet you look over your shoulder and
wonder that very thought
Do you see me coming for you yet?
Everyone loves to live and forget
Perhaps you’ve misplaced the lines that trace my face
As it’s gone absent and has been replaced with the
disillusioned and treasured pictures that you see now
Moving on to the next distraction of popularity
Changing looks, bodies, and thoughts
Each day passes brings us one day closer to reality
(I am he as you are she as you are me and we are all together)
What is the ultimate plan again?
I’ve repressed the madness building up
within your contemptment
General Cronie I am at your command!
I’ll drink the poison sold at
your 7 Day Store
I’ll gulp it down as you howl
“As You Were!”
Swallow Swallow Swallow
Three sips and I’m still thirsty
Come on, come On
I’ll cheers on the last drop;
we’re all a little bit crazy, right?
I am grateful for 25 cent fortunes ❤
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
I am grateful for live music and talented musicians ❤
How long is an acceptable
timeframe for one to attain
his or her prize for the life
that is hoped for and wished?
The CEO sleeps in his
10,000 thread count silky sheets
Head on pillow while sweet
dreams fill his eyes with happiness
Remembering from a time
of beginning, when wallet was empty
Now, blessed from earning
his ultimate happiness of affording any luxury
The sister of spirit sitting in her
house of god reading her psalms
Dedicating her life to holiness
and many moments spent “alone”
Waiting her entire life to finally
compliment herself in her
obtainment of Heaven;
loving everyone and everything
What of joy, what of this true love?
A mission to accomplish for any
foolish boy or girl, romanticizing and
getting lost in the many lovely fairy tales
Or, motivated by goals of self
Whether selfless or not
Words are not to be trusted in
circumstances such as this
Four seasons depicting times of change
Flashes of life and death celebrations
Individuals interchanging ideas of an Eldorado;
Mine, has always been the same
I am grateful for rainy days ❤
~In my head this is played with an acoustic tune through a variety of minor chords and finger pickin’. Feeling the home grown roots tonight! I hope you enjoy :)~
She was sitting on a curb
Pillow and blanket in her hand
Watching the cars fly by
Seeing the predicament they were in
People boxed away in their
Containments of metal and glass
She turned her back to them
Feeling their fire burned up
and turned to ash
He floated down from the sky
A Kerouac book in his hands
And sat next to her
Like good ol’ lost friends
He talked about nothing
As strangers often do
He shot up from the ground
After a minute or two
and she waved goodbye to him
A light burst from the sky
He came back down to Earth
Grabbed her by the hand, and said
I could use some comfort and warmth
He took her on a trip
A journey of possibilities
Taking her to the house where she
Dreamt of knives and heard her own screams
and then he left her there
The murderer tried, yeah he did
He tried to kill all of us
She ran away from him
She ran away from them all
The girl found herself
Standing on another curb
Throwing out a thumb
Getting picked up by a trucker man
and he said
“Death will surely find you
Sooner or later he’ll come
He’ll have Bright Eyes you can stare into
And an instigator’s tongue
Telling you your stories
Until you think you’ve heard enough
Yeah, that death will show up
on your doorstep
Wearing a suit vest and
a shaggy haircut.”
And away they go
Off into the sunset
Away they go
Off into the sunset
The time is NOW, when
the shadows catch up with the light
And away they go
Off into the sunset
Away they go
Away they go
Away they go
I am grateful for all of my old neighbors who loved to play music at every gathering ❤
Gazing into the open gate of hell
the literal abyss of hades
With its jagged canines from the ground clenched in meeting
of the stalactites trickling down an acidic saliva
in motion to bite with the deadliest mastication
The acrid stench invading the lungs with every stagnant breath
lingering close to penetrate nostrils
Trying to suffocate the mind into action, panic
Time is endless and doesn’t exist
bearing the illusion of importance in the insignificant
The mouth is hungry for raw flesh
In want of emotion and the destruction of the feelings created
beyond the questions of meaning or individual interpretations
A cavern of retreat for the cheapest of souls
Blocking out all light with an overwhelming sense of dread
No fire ablaze to guide the wanderers, lost and searching for
an escape within the darkness
Desperately feeling their way into the arms of death
People of the night losing identity within the numbing embrace
Forgetting right and wrong, or anything related to the living; breathing
Echoes whisper from beyond the cimmerian haunt
Tempestuous cries, tempting the abandoned to desert
the rationality of being alone
Wrapped inside my arms, I hide
Every tear falling as a single goodbye for the creatures
marching towards the end of all ends
A loner of thoughts, capturing the last emotional responses of those that past;
I have become a watcher of demons
I am grateful for love ❤
Sometimes feeling the power of movement from pen to paper offers a
more satisfyingly embrace of a language
uncharacteristic of fingers to keys;
unless of course the keys produce the vibrational
sound of something inspiring like one of Mozart’s symphonies
but not in the case of this definitional confusing
of one word or phrase, meaning something entirely
different from the former thought before
getting distracted by the various amounts of rants, excuse me…
Ahem, so thereby standing on the placidly positioned
soapbox of feministic qualities, though I
rarely try to label an individual’s activities,
especially those to classify as my own,
My restlessness speaks volumes, as my
injured hand can attest
To feel moved to creation whereas typing any word seems
disheartening, not as interesting as to
Write for the excitement of feeling; of the trailing of thought
shooting out of psyche and sprouting down into index finger
and thumb, balancing on the delicate
bird only addressed, usually by some
douchebag distracted: one hand on wheel, one hand caressing cell;
A momentary lapse of judgment that is peculiar for this gender,
or so it would seem, portrayed as even now
as I continue choosing dedication over comfort
With sword in mouth ready to slice down,
willing to action of emitting random passions
Sharp intestinal misgivings of simple realities
even as unaware of own, claiming idols
worthy of noteworthy admiration and a bit of honorary
imitation, but there is still a slightly
less than relatable piece for me, missing from their
well-versed lines and spiritually bending
phrases, as if human can only relate to human
a true bond, for sure but not quite the answer
to the riddle playing its familiar melody of
whispering quandaries of
culture, gender, religion, spirit, death, life
Where do we belong in a piece written
by one but to be addressed to us all?
To connect in hand, placing words in text to hold onto,
instead of a sweaty handshake
or an awkward hug
My silence is weak, I sometimes can go
days without tracing out some thought
through the maze of my head
Trudging through the hedging, trying to
find the way out
Lost, alone, Nay!
That’s what they say; if a hedge is a wall built to stand up against those
willing to blindly follow an isolated pathway
forward
Getting lost in the tunnel vision view of the artistically enhanced corn
being recorded for the loner’s documentary of the world;
it’s numbing to write of everyone else,
to escape one’s thoughts that lead to the downward pathway
to hell? No,
but it’s easier to see than to ignore, easier to sleep than
stay awake with the unmistakable guilt, my definition of hell
Maybe different than yours? like a cliché metaphoric
labyrinth comparison to fields of starches:
Indefinable routes to confuse, to make it difficult to navigate, persuading
looping circles of repetitive moments of frustration
lapses in navigation of self that lead to the same heartbreaking dead ends
Any escape out of the hedge is congratulated
by storytellers who sit on the edge
addicted to the thrill of the tournament and the shame of the
horror
Continuing tradition of keeping score, figures as pawns
in a different kind of sport
Hiding in the leaves, forever writing down their perceptions in
sketches and notes
But as for me, I see a hedge and branches, breakable twigs
Moldable objects destined to be worked by an imagination capable of cutting down
any barrier presentable to man, or woman;
(boots firmly placed on box of stance
asking for attention in the power of height
Raising the volume of the mic and positioning spotlight
as if declaring awareness just by the production of it all)
If a hedge is a wall and a wall separates two pieces of the puzzle
that connect everything together
then the wall is a chapter, a small hurdle of
situation and placement
easily defeated by will of the heart;
mine fueling the fire to burn each green leaf
to the ground, flaming up in an orange shade of rust
A hole in the greenery
Burning out a definable pathway, following the trail
Laying out my own personal depiction of the yellow brick road of
escaping the sticky spiderweb of self and
Introducing one’s own world of amazement at the end of the
short story;
Originally written.
I am grateful for peppermint patties ❤
Muse Writer 