Poems

every day is its own lifetime.
everything is new at sunrise.
two days, months, years strain your bloody fists;
loosen your grip and they’ll disappear by night.

nights ago i dreamt of insanity
like an animal i clawed, robbed of its humanity.
they tell the future and you struggle just the same
yet a trick of the mind; but is that not reality?

the louder subconscious screams sound,
the more self imposed fear gathers ’round.
as the mutilation begins to conjure rabid monstrosities
to your own misery you are bound.

and then you wake.
daylight and vision had never been so beautiful.

the concepts are parallel.

each moment your lungs heave in pools
unbearable weight.
and the body is often corrupted by notions
of yesterday.

breathe.
release.

a lifetime occurs each day.

let go of the years per second
and know you’ll be okay.

my dear,
dear you.
you look so pretty.
hips carved
brain is starved
is it you that hates
or is it me?

dear you
are molded to
perfection, see
penetrate, strain and
regression,
in through the eyes to that
sick brain’s perception
but is that you
or is it me?

dear you
seem so fond of marks
obsessed with things
that may not end
as soon as they start
but concerning me,
ive told and will tell that
i am not a beginning.

i am not a beginning.

and dear

i fear you’re stuck with me.
you cling to me.
you shriek and claw
so helplessly
trying to find
another place to go
but you’re alone,
you’re alone
you’re alone.

how i wish i could tell you which way is home.

home.

the word’s like a
blanket,
little fits the
sensation,
but the longing’s so
present
after years or really
seconds
of losing
every aspect
of what you are.

or was it me
that robbed you of them?

dear you.

dear, you.

the pitiful realm of home
is quick to perish.

ill resume in staring
blankly
as you fail

to remember me.

there are times my mind drifts to
melancholic wonder.
distilled reminiscence
notion from another

how deeply have you shattered.
catatonic vespers
translucent memoirs
her saturated whispers;

how beautiful was
the view
of the crumbling of
your own complexion
in her bottomless secluding eyes