.The storm clouds are my pillows and I drive to the heart of them, wrapped in lightning and rainThe mountains offer me sleep, quiet, dark, and their dim music beats on my ears like the drums of the distant pastAnd as I blink in and out I let my face hit the window, singing along and forgetting how to hurt for a minute (maybe an eon)The rumbles of the thunder above and beneath me are clean and comfort, blankets in clouds and the miles rolling bySleep descends and I am not safe, but sheltered through Kansas and Boston, through the journey and the rush of the raindrops a hair's breadth from my eyes
PSATo whoever reads these words, remember them. Read them silently, read them aloud, repeat them until you can see them permanently burned into the backs of your eyelids and they become your mantra:There is always hope.In the worst places and the darkest times, there is still hope. No storm cloud on the planet is immune to stars or sunlight peeking through. Every cave has an exit, every night gives way to daybreak, and every demon can be beaten down.As the roaring wildfire must always give way to the gentle rain, so too does despair inevitably sputter and die in the face of hope. Until its cataclysmic dying day, this world will always contain hope. As long as you are alive, there is hope aplenty for tomorrow and all the days after it.Do not forget my words. Do not ignore them, laugh them bitterly away, or let your fear overcome them. I speak of a simple truth that should never be forgotten.The one thing all our heroes have in common is that when everything falls apart and the world s
SpentThe silence reverberates in four part timeWhen you realize you're all aloneAnd the snow falls about you to blanket the soundOf you choking upon your own throatIt's over, it's finished; you're spent and betrayedYou just want to lie down, get some restSo you curl up your body like dead spider legsAnd the gentle snow takes you to sleep.
CoinsGolden leaves float to the water's surface, coins for the dead.May they find safe passage to the worlds beyond.
SharptongueSharp tongue,burning wit,speak the piercing truth.Wound with words and deadly gaze -unstoppable, uncouth.Forgotten skeletons laid bare,shot with vicious voice;fire in the soul and heartto cut down needless noise.
MidwinterChill in the midwinter air,dark is the night skyHeavy clouds above reflectthe fire in your eyesTread across the icy groundas North Wind softly sighsGiant's bones will hide youin the mountain's sheltered lie
Who will perform the autopsy?There is a forest painted inscorching red, fire bloomingbeneath its dirt-caked skin,smoke skimming leavesas plumes of flame snickerbehind the tail of a doe.Coals coating tree-trunks,hungry for life, it devoursthe same way they ravaged herwhen she said 'no'.Bright eyes morph into murkinessas the inferno marches.When rust washed downher throat, she did not scream,only begged for them to stop.They do.Beneath the ash,they find her body.
RecipeYou said you like your girlsa little psychoticwith a dash of instability,so I showed you my recipewith shaky, bloody hands.Clothes were discardedand you broke my rib cage openand shoved a needle full of cyanidei n m y l u n g s.(Your insanity was my life supportand I lived off of your insidious words.)And just as I made friendswith the Grim Reaper,you abandoned meand said I was too fucked up for you.How ironic is itthat my creatorwas terrified of me?.........................He said he liked his girlsa little morbidwith a dash of insanityso I cut my chest openand showed him my p o i s o n - f i l l e d l u n g s.He grabbed my barely-beating heart,caressed my sunken cheeksand said, "This is all I care about."
Wasted FleshFlesh, flesh,Such wasted flesh...This able-bodied meat.Defiled by drugs and impurities.A mind born with clarity,Yet so blatantly abused.No harm did you suffer;Other than harm self inflicted.Disregarding the hopeless gazes,Of those who were born without.No good, no good;This I cannot abide...I shall take this flesh from you,And it shall be tended and made anew.A gift to those who are deserving,Of the very gifts you cast aside...Now then, my dear,Do stop your screaming.It will only be painful,Until your heart stops beating.- Word of Chen, 1/6/2016
Is It Love?If I hugged you,would you never let go?If I kissed you,would you cherish that moment?If I reached for your hand,would you take mine gently?If I needed a shoulder,would you let me cry on yours?If I needed to talk,would you really listen?If I needed to scream,would you do it with me?If I needed to go,would you come with me?If I fell for you,would you catch me?or just let me hit the pavement?
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
The Church of Self-LoathingAs the candles raze the air to illuminate flaws for his inspection, I confess a horror as I realise that the Minister wears my face. He preaches with my swollen tongue and carves a judgemental scowl into my forehead at the sight of me.He demands a blood sacrifice; a distorted evolution of self-flagellation. He wants my contrition and I want absolution from the sin of being alive. I manage not to flinch at this decree with a well-practiced reverence. I genuflect, draw my sleeves to half-mast in a silent salute to his dominion over me, and wash up to my elbows as best I can in the blinding black. Blood pools between stony-faced onlookers diluted with the sacrament of self-loathful tears, the only testament to my belief: “I am not worthy”.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
Black EyeThe sense of dread you instill with your lookmakes millions quake as if the whole Earth shook.The world is well aware of the moves you makeBut it’s impossible to predict the form it’ll take.Their sharpest of scholars can’t cleave your disguise,but I see the darkness that is haloed in your eyes.Like an inbound disaster you deliver despairwhen upon the land you fixate your stare.Your visage is venom; there’s no point in hopingthat the people can rest with your black eyes open.With fear as your feed, your appetite amplifies,and I see the darkness that is haloed in your eyes.Your timeline, your being, is immersed in obscurity‘cuz a black eye needs no light to see.It’s only when you surface to prowl for preythose opaque orbs emerge to blot out the day.I see the darkness that is haloed in your eyes;the shadowed glare that hides your lies.I sense the sickness plastered oln your faceand know how it spreads with its fetid embrace.From the
an atheist's prayerdear god,i planted no tulips in autumnand no tulips came in spring.how silly of me, thento mourn the empty garden,to long for fields of amsterdam,to kneel at night in cold dirt,hands folded.i’ve learned there isa certain ache in lackinga thing never had, that small itchwhose relief is two seasons past –so god, if you can hear me,know that i am homesickfor amsterdam,whose name, like yours, i knowbut whose flowers i cannot see.
little thingsglint of eyes,sound in the epiglottis,a fidgeting footand lips twitchingdemarcations and denotations of meaningrhythms and complexities, playingmommy and daddy make babiesbut the little things make life.