Think but this….

Living in a tragedy gets old. Dystopian elections of battered hopes where men fall prey to honest ignorance and are pulled to pieces drowning out the message. Each rally set outside of an election year calls to mind another authoritarian in black and white; a dead mans message of terror spread out to the stars propagating at light speed. Years pass and life continues with battles and fights to hold on. With love and a renewed hopefulness and the crush of long distances. To hear her voice, to watch her dance in joy. Then a waking from a dream and a virus wreaks havoc, exposing the flaws in logic more boldly than a hundred hours of documentary and late night talk shows. But still conspiracy conspiracy conspiracy they whisper and while I speak only in shadows and darkness still my heart remains because of she’s there. Hair wet symphonies and silence. Driving to work for a company who has tenuous grasp on reality but the commute is short. Trying to convince aging parents to take this seriously but hearing Fox news reach up their spine and spout false talking points. Despair but with rapid eye twitches from lack of sleep. Still…I’m not dead yet. Time enough for love and joy. Death is coming and that’s no lie. But he is my brother. I know him well. And I am not afraid.

A lifetime of coping skills

I forget the hells I’ve been through working through trauma
I forget them having lived with them daily
Having worn down paths I my soul
Having found bolt holes in those paths which could short-circuit a memory
Or provide a moments respite
I can see the moments of trauma and the pain is distant
Not disassociated
Just distant
What forgiveness of self
What justice
What clarity feel like at the end of a long road
But those bastions of safety
Those places and thoughtforms
Which gave solace
Those places of peace I hollowed out
Lay forgotten
But I’ve begun to revisit them
And realize that they provide safety from the daily trauma of being alive
Refuge for the broken
A realization that healed doesn’t mean mended
That acting as if the trauma was the only reason for pain has inflicted more trauma
If only by tiny increments
Now I sit, in my bastion, not alone
Not alone anymore
But still
Free to feel pain
Even if everything is better

Dry river remembrance

I’m broke down tear streaked cold nosed sleep deprived humanity
In other words normal end of weekend depression
Having to go to work to earn that money to live another two weeks and spend enough to feel just a little bit in control of my pain addled life
Each day begging for an end only to stumble through my door and collapse into bed asleep
Waking up way too early
To roll the dice on forlorn hope
Fucked up that chance is the only solution that I can think of
Broken bone words splintered in forgiveness without the chance to heal
Slow decay
I’d give up I think
But I’d rather be if at all possible
In your arms

The flensing knife turns inward

I’ve been creatively burnt out for the last few weeks. It’s not entirely anything to do with the big things like work or relationships. It’s the little things that I have let eat away at my free time. Leaving me with no time to sit and be. No time to experience the world as time slips away.

Being so busy that any time…and here I have to stop and redirect because work crept in. Because it’s gotten to be insidious. It slips into any crack which if I turn it off, it becomes that I was unreachable and that is the issue.

Which is why I am writing this at 4am.

In alot of ways work is better, my relationship is better but my friendships and my writing and my actual life seems to have all suffered.

I have never been one to strike a balance. I throw myself completely into things. And that passion sees me through but it also breaks me.

It’s the inevitable, inexorable schism between what is needful and what is best. And much as I thrive in the situation where the world is burning and every action I make can turn the rudder, eventually…the boat sinks and the drowning begins.

And I am oh so weary of dying by inches in that way.
Something has to happen. And I don’t know if I have the mental fortitude to make the life choices required.

It seems like I was so much happier when I was a villain. But maybe it was just that I was young and didn’t see the terminus. The inevitability of less ahead than behind.

Pawns of a waking dream

There was a time when I thought I could teach the world what it could be
Thought that shaping words and connecting thoughtss
Invoking emotions and making manifest not just desire but forming reality to will
Would somehow resonate and works its way beyond my borders
Would transform those it touched and somehow reshape a world dying

As days and years passed
I gave up on those thoughts that bloomed as a redolent flower which strutted and strived
Glitzy and hollow
Grip slowly relinquished as new life broke the mold of what was making me into what would be
And in the chrysalis of new beginning
A blow to the heart set me spinning away from one path as time and history rewrote itself
And I
At junction
At crux
Was cast out
Flotsam on the river of causality
Chrysalis hardens to shell
And denied outward growth
The only way out became down
Deep through pain and loathing
Into depression which had always nibbled at the edges
And now gloried in being centerpiece for a captive audience
Deeper
Core out each piece
And discern crystal or flaw
Raw and wriggling
Pink remora leaving behind fresh wounds but dying alone on the cold pavement
Each passing year a broken memory until tattered cataclysm in shredded throat torn again and again
feeling as blood and pressured release
Scream frequency finding harmonic resonance
In shell long past useful
And burst outward infecting
Killing what it touched
And still a bit remained
A blade sheathed beneath bone
A weapon of times long gone
Master no more and wielded wild-eyed
Agony as all walls fall and what was out caresses newly formed akin
Until pleasure and pain are just two ways of speaking and both hold no discernable sway over the other
Instead, both in their firmament
Gods bestride a world of flesh
And I mistress and master
Betrayed broken and each broken rib pierced breath
Imperceptibly easier

Until anew
A person looks out
Wondering at a world they didn’t live through
A time traveler taking the longest route through blindness to arrive in a fight that cannot be one
With coping skills that say to take a simple action
One that heart and eyes know will be unforgivable but effective
Begging anyone willing to give permission for the monster inside
Blade buried in bone
To be let free
Afraid to be allowed to be
And watching as it all burns
Silence let’s go its grip
A wave forms seeking cross and disruption
Seeking amplitude match
And growth
Seeking
Voice to voice
Until all of us
Throats raw and bleeding
In notes crystalline from cores of reflected shatters
Speak
Sleepers
Wake!

Last dance of the bee in the chilling autumn

Words slip out promising blood and lust
Naked lies wander into mouths
Taking residence in sleep murmured dry tongue dreams
Eyes dry heavy ponderous
Eyelids closing against bags packed for undetermined future
The only certainty is that I’ll be there to second guess each maneuver
So sure in the daylight on the road to another me
Until days wind down
One mask slips while another rises and whose to say which if any is real
Or is it only in transition where no expectation pulls that I am free to explore a self grown tired of racing from one hope to the next
Blurring time
Lost years
Reclamation tastes bitter when you find that what could be has passed by
And only what is remains

Wondering if only clashes against hearts plans

Simple aches in times ticking by
Heat without the flop sweat of humid air
Bone deep aches soothe away
Puzzle pieces trying to fit
Yearning for a trial run
For a chance to be happy
Shackled existence
Tethered to place
Instead of each other
Place becomes a clinging lover
Enticements
Inducements to stay
Wishing for the better life
Better infrastructure
Support for all you are and need
So that one day
You will rest steady
Deep in my embrace

Tell me your secrets ‘ere I’m gone

Those glances you’ll never know the cause of
Those whispers you’ll never know the content of
Whips and chains
Driving us to inevitable conclusions in a me centric world
When reality
Real talk
People don’t give a fuck
Those whispers aren’t about you
Those glances are caused by movement out the corner of the eye and evolutionary biases
But we all clamor to be the center of the world even if that attention we get is negative
A justification for our actions
For our selfish acts
When all that’s needed is that moment of freedom that persists between obligations
That moment of acceptance when they smile and you feel that warm down to your toes and along your spine
But we keep persuing those unreachable goals not out of desire but from empty drive
To reach heights that others cannot and look down knowing you are triumphant
And empty
Such goals that feed only the jones’ only work for the heart blind fools and the slipshod illness of ego
But still we all want a little something we don’t have
Thinking it’s acquisition will fill some void
Feeding folded paper as if it were wood to the soft flames
Feeling empty and needing one more pill, one more drink, one more Coach bag, one more
Until nothing is enough
Not even food
Not even love
It all pales beside that addiction
Words flee the press of day
All hopes drain out
Until we break
And give up on the old
And start a new life
Inhabiting an old shell
But we are never the same
And old roads can never be tread
The future calls
And the endless possible
Free from more ambition than a beautiful breath
Calls out
Choices to be made

Ask for me thrice and never will I part

Spin bled
Round read
Eyes turn again
Next fled
Choice bends
And back to you again
Learn blood
Sup FUD
And swirl into arms
Roll dice
Found slice
Made nice
Though pain paints its own picture
Hearts race
Lost face
Soundly laced
Choices back to her again
Quiet beat
Soundly sleep
Pain creeps
Eyes possess her all