Paper

Sometimes
I miss my pen and paper
miss the way
it feels to bleed
onto page
through ink and lead
letters reflect
just how one feels
the proof on script
old poets
healed.

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When the world ends.

And there was a world of possibility in this hell she lived, in this abyss of flesh and walls.

Dancing above the discarded waste, she swayed, she swayed to the freedom of foul smelling air.

Animal, beast, desperate wretch, lips painted with blood still fresh. The thirst thrust upon her

through yearning, longing, blasphemous desires. Whore caged and tortured, deranged and medicated.

Forgotten in the wreckage of days material long gone and spent.

Upon the scorched decay stood still. Savage.

The orange light of the dying sun shone clear over her ever changing flesh. Rebirth burnt its last remains.

True form and beauty let loose in reality of the feral nature near destroyed.

Natural violence through passion and flesh. Fire that courses like wind through

veins boiling the blood that thickens and feigns.

And there she stood, the only living soul, chest beating deeply, heart left to moan.

Eyes miraculous, glowing, wet with dew. As the beast is set free.

No bars, no walls. Free in the death, the burnt remains of suffocation, derogation, manipulation of the senses.

Dancing in the waste burning outward to deface the body once captured, once object-formed and standard.

Swayed she sways to the explosion of veins, to the remarkable chains, setting flesh to flame.

Cured of restriction ash falls from the skies once a danger like acid, like pills to the mind.

She dances in grace, in full form, and lace, she screams to the stars her lungs fit to burst.

Exploding like a match, heart swells with passion.

The animal, the creature, the truth and its master.

(September 14 2012)

The dissociated brain

Have you ever felt
inside out?
Backwards and forth
like someone else.
Ever looked at him
and thought that is me
felt the utter horror
of not existing
replace all your thoughts
with what his could be?
Just have to shake it off
no point in listening
it’s just your fucking mind
not reality
but this won’t move aside
no it’s meant to be
can’t hold this in sight
I’ve let go of me.
All these symptoms collide
and his face takes over me
he’s just handing me my change
but I’ve become a he
if I don’t break this hold
I might end up in ward b-reality
it chokes on my brains news feed.
I cannot keep up with these
thoughts you see
reality is not something meant to be
it’s quite tiresome you see
I can go a long way just to breathe
but the scenery becomes a bit of paint
and every interaction is unsafe
I may walk away fighting your face
thoughts of living your life in your place-
my reality in space, no memories or piece
of who I might be.
Have you ever lived your life this way?
I have to be aware to stop the pain
exhausted though I am
I will remain.

tagged

I am ceramic
fragile and tragic
frozen in place
where you led me.
Statue of stone
bathed in this gold
I have no soul
can you save me?
I am ceramic
precious, fragile,
and sold.

Froth

Can you tell me how
how to steal this sound
take the voice so loud
and drown it out, out, out-
break the waves that cull the demons
sing the pleasure as you mean it
never wander far from home
unless you know not where you go
footsteps buried under snow
blackened feet and bloodied soul
know not where you ought to roam
foam at the mouth
know no moan
can you tell me how it’s done
or sell me back what I have won?

Dead name

Hush-don’t say that name
you have lost that person today
they don’t stand here-
we’re not the same.

Please-don’t say that name
it reminds me of my shame
I have grieved much more than you
you could never feel as I do.

Hush-don’t say that name
I lost everything today
you, you’re not the same
you bring up my deepest shame
you have placed me with the blame
I just cannot hear that name.

Please… don’t say that name
please don’t say I look the same
why am I so damn ashamed?
you ask questions to break my frame
literal-the words are violence
say that name it’s dead to my lips.

Hush! Don’t say that name
they have died, but I remain
you will love me just the same
replace them in your memory
with old thoughts of what you see
play along and don’t you grieve
the name is dead, but I’m still me.

on the shelf

Just a doll on a shelf
no use for nothing else
catch the dust
and sit real still
don’t know how I really feel.
Just a toy for their amusement
cannot refute just how I’m used
yet I’m impatient for real life
wish I knew more then to survive
just a doll upon the shelf
taking up space and nothing else
breaks the same as time will tell
no real voice just frills and lace
she sits quietly while in place
meaning nothing
taking grace
she cannot walk, speak, only take.

Morning light

And I awoke much colder
no warmth beside my bed
madness filled my cup
and fear overtook my head.
I awoke much older
than I came before
a child now a martyr
only living ever more.
Sleep for chance to dream
to live and share the glory
chance to pass the story on
no chance to heed the words.
And I awoke on a sunny night
lost my sanity
fear had taken my young voice
abandon the rest of me.
I now sleep with one eye open
cruelty my shield
at once they thought a saviour wanted
now they run from me
a monster comes from what they wanted
an older kind of fiend.
I awoke with eyes undaunted
they won’t forget to bleed.

Take it in

Breaking, shaking
I’m alone
when the world starts
to unfold
this is heartache evermore
broken, shattered
on the floor
we once witnessed this before
mind at once and then it’s gone
feel the world from getting on
broken mirrors
mind forgot
she keeps breathing
on and on.

The truth about recovery

Guess I’m still sick
presenting well my shtick
a coping skill near heaven sent
leaves me dissociated and bent
forgetting what my true feeling is.

Guess I’m still sick
when a child’s laughter turns into
cries for help
you hear children playing
I hear children being tortured and killed.

Guess I’m still sick
when visions of violence
never leave my head
is it still intrusive if these thoughts
stay ever present?

Guess I’m still sick
so broken I missed
the signs and symptoms of
unreal bliss
hoping to God I don’t lose my shit
or at least I would if I could think of it
dissociation is fun
until you realize this
you haven’t been living for too damn long.