Earthly Love

To say "I miss you", carries little impact. 

As to say "I love you", means nothing to how I have shown it. 

I remember nights I could feel you. 

Thinking back now to having picked out your favorite beer.

How did I know? 

How did I know when you would call? 

Or at times when you were lying, though you lie all the time;

Especially to yourself, my stupid love. 

I'm gonna guess, 

None of it mattered. 

How could I know what to think, 

Loving a liar; 

Loving you. 

How could I?

The Doll

Like Gold. 

Fingertips do reach 

       for me.

I paint, you abed, 

On your stomach, 

Eyes seeing

Me watching back. 

I love you, where you stay; 

Painting you in watercolor this day, 

But watching your eyes reach for me, 

As I touch your human face, 

Flesh and bone, 

And the lips I long to kiss so. 

I imagine, your flesh in my hands, 

Your eyes, and watching them go cold, 

When looking at me. 

I imagine, you would hate the way my warm body, lights your heart, and the way my eyes, will scare you. 

In my dream, you love me. 

I reach for you now, 

Missing you now, 

Missing something everyday, 

Never given. 

I have begged, yelled, cursed, and charmed to get yes's out of you. 

I have listened to the swindle of beats and Rythyms in the nights, to love affairs and winds while thinking and awaiting for you from so afar. 

Like a little girl dreaming, and trying...

Til alas, 

So many a time, you shoed me away; swatted at me, like a dog, and broom in hand. 

I remember nights, had and never had, between you and I; 

Dreams indeed do die. 

And new ones 

Get dreamt up. 

I know, what our ration tells us, 

Is that far enough in, 

I might come to my senses- reasons you push, and reasons I push back. 

Reasons you run, and I follow. 

But it is the in-between that snags me; 

That keeps me...

Listening into the wind for you. 

Looking into the sky for you; 

Waiting.

Waiting. 

Irrational 

As ever. 

When I should have been running; 

I had bound my soul to you. 

And indeed, 

It would seem, 

You locked me, in a glass cabinet...

Soul and all; 

Willing to take, but not play with the doll. 

I had loved you; 

But she was your Clown, I. 

I...was the doll, 

You never enjoyed, 

But sadisticly; 

Like me. 

As is stands, 

I miss what would be mine, 

For the moments I would take you. 

Sure now, that if you let me, 

You would be cold and done, 

Just as you always have been. 

Cold, and undone. 

And done. 

And owner, to a doll, you keeper locked away in view, though rarely, 

Will you free her, to you. 

Arms stretched. 

Fingertips Gold. 

Eyes Abound. 

I've always been falling now. 

Falling now. 

Staring at you, through the glass; 

Sealed to my fate, 

Though ever in love, 

With something cold and dry. 

Waiting. 

Waiting for one day, 

For you to have a change of mind; 

Heart. 

For you to change your heart, 

To what in me, 

You have locked away, 

On still what is, 

A very cold day. 

The Thought of You

The thought of you coming back; 

Changes with the song, 

The mood, the low-hip jive, 

Of soultry-soul, 

Smokey and good riddence.

..Smokey, 

And Good Riddence

Maybe it was because, 

You were a charm.

And I knew it; 

Like inhaling your scent would make me bend, And your eyes, 

And your way, make me bend, 

Like a drunken tree, 

To heavy nights of wind; 

You were my Summer Tropic-Storm, 

But watched it melt away, nay, 

To a colder and more grey-like glow, as Summer faded, 

As I'd known it would. 

As it always Does. 

And I look south, 

As if looking to the past, 

Catching myself glimpse, 

The

 feeling you'd left in me- 

A feeling I've stricken low, to move past quickly;

One that I wonder if longs to resurface. 

I pushed sadness down..

Not out. 

                                              Love

                                    In

                        

               Falling

What does it mean, that the creator of this phrase implores "falling". 

To fall. 

I fall. 

Into Love....?! 

History Lost

My story is not different. 

It tells of the same subtlties, the same nuances, that will get scraped under the rug of human histories, through attempted portrayals told. 

What may be lost, may be lost forever, 

With one, but "this" voice, 

To attempt a stories tale. 

What is in the tale, 

Is the subtlety and nuance of what will always remain to be said, 

And the screams of it's truths, toiling a surface below. 

The purpose, I fear, will be lost, 

If the subtlties, the nuances 

Get lost as well. 

Who was she? 

Who was she really? 

We are not what our Fathers make of us, nor relations or teachers alike. 

We are, much deeper. 

And that deep resides in our nuances- tales perhaps, only we can tell. 

And well, I have a great many thing to tell, but I suspect, they will lay captured in the fruits of my head, never to see daylight, 

And with them, so do I perish only partially. 

It is the tale that will never be told. 

The silences. The underscores. The mirror between her and God...

And the worlds-

The doorway of her mind, now shut. 

The observations scattered without catalogue as she races to get to the punch line. The bottomless pit, of her heart. 

There are things, that even should I write, might never be known;The nuances breathing time past her, while she stayed still watching the universe spiral without. 

It is a story that will likely die, with me. 

Like too many a men, that had divine undercurrent, but vesseled without witness, except as their own. 

And sometimes our story does die with us...

But it doesn't hurt, trying to write it, along the way. Attempting to capsulize the nuances, 

Of what it has meant, 

To be me. To live....THIS life. To make sense of it. To nurture myself through, and to comprehend for me, what no man wilt. 

Why? 

Why? 

Just that question: why? 

Do we Be? 

And why do we ponder it? 

And why do we suffer our live's liberty at the hands of others most days? 

Why? 

Why wouldn't I think about this? 

Why, 

Would I? 

Perhaps if nothing else, 

To preserve the nuances, 

Of who I used to be. 

Who am I? 

If not these? 

What is Essense and purpose, if not these? 

These nuances. 

That will go on, as the body, 

Of man's story. 

The Room

There were so many times, 

I didn't know how I kept going. 

At a cross roads more than ever before; 

That in itself says something. 

The world around me, trembles and burns in fire. 

I lay awake, bed-ridden, attempting to massage away pains, 

That only awaken with me the next day, 

And the next...

And the next. 

Looking for a way through, 

Peace has come a bit, 

But so has has life fallen, 

And in acceptance. 

I feel trapped to make moves, but not moves I'd choose. 

I have watched this life burn, 

All around me.

I have watched it go up in flames. 

And I have walked my self back, 

Everyday, 

To a secluded apartment that has become my life. 

Even saving the world, has become impossible when I can't get out of bed. 

The system eats up my money, 

And leaves me for dead. 

I have observed the hearts of men, feed the blackness that feeds on life. 

And in doing so, 

I have watched myself die, 

In a room of solitude. 

The Check Point

Faul, 

I let down, 

as this spark of mine, wares off, 

And instead of anything but, 

I wait for it all to be done with. 

Walking away, 

I turn my back now, 

Even to myself; 

She is dead.

Currently. 

At least in mind, and soul- the god-blessed body taking too long to follow suit; damned indeed, 

I know Hell, all too well; damned indeed. 

Every worth is questioned, 

Parallel to a developing numb-cold 

Thing. 

All that is left, 

Is not much; 

My enemies know not what they have done, as I, and most others...

Meet our retribution through a karma fair. 

I, 

Must have been aweful 101, to deserve this. 

And my mind unwinds now. 

Rattles. 

Bellows in hollow shells. 

The land bleeds and I carry it's smell. 

One too many...

One too many. 

Took up...

What WAS her; 

One too many. 

But I wasn't crying wolf. 

I was begging and pleading for someone to take me out, to get me out, to rescue me from the prison of my hell. 

I wasn't crying wolf. 

I was just crying. 

And here I remain. 

My life meaning nothing, 

Against time. 

Or power. 

Maybe meaning EVERYTHING 

To someone. 

but I have failed deeply now. 

And I sit on the bench, looking at the present like a sunset. 

Faith maybe left; I won't deny that. 

But I can not feel it's magic where now, there lay a broken girl, 

Who speaks not much anymore...

More and more...

Growing silent...

From all her un-responded-to 

Screams. 

The Runt

Dear Life...


I will not be playing with you, for today.
I need a break, like a mad-woman in prison...
stares becoming rolling streams of tears;
make no mistake;
She knows she's gone over.

The headaches, disassemble her cognition, replacing it with pain instead.
Nerves feel raw, and internally exposed, shooting signals of pain that would make a grown man cry. 
Walking,
 needing a blanket, to muffle sound and light, withdrawn...
withdrawn, she's drawn...
and drawn...
and one day...
she'd been so drawn away,
she didnt know if it would even be worth,
finding her way back.

See, Life...this isn't just about today. This isn't just about anything...
but a began inability
to get back up.

My EVERYTHING grows weak, trembling...
though somehow the show of who I am stands for approval;
gotta survive...right?

But you know,
and I know...
I never belonged here.

I die here, everyday,
like a sentencing.
headaches taking everything from me,
but not before I had a chance to dream it up.

I go mad, pulling at my hair, watching the mind unravel, because, I failed.
and they are right; the enemies...
I have never been strong enough.
Maybe a genius in there...
but a weak runt, always sick.

And they won. As right as they are.
I have no place to run now. for i choose to bind myself by love, and sacrifice.
I am scared for her....

Something needs to change.

The Cauldron

I am hot, with fire, craving,
for soft hands, tracing my tilting in.

Cracks seep, and yeah, don't bother, that's just me.
Shell. Shadow. Something.
Traces of Something,

once there.

Blood streams, like tears; have you ever noticed?
They do a dance together,
the water, when hits, Crimson Red.

I miss a man, like death,
a love, like life,

and a life, like love.

There are things simply just given up on;
mostly but not souly.

Nothing in me, strikes to breathe, but
the mere nature that is left,
as I am.

I am,
wild, beastly, savagely becoming untame, and undone,
and undone,
and wound up,
turned over,
all over again; streaming with blood,
and searching again, for what it means,
to dream.

"dream", is almost a word i don't recognize at present;
like somehow the concept was wiped from me, and is only another life's memory.
A pre-Amnesia.

I have been stripped of my dignity
and my clothes,
left there holding them naked
like the embarrassment of loving someone so deeply,
yet, espeonage from a get-go of false pretenses
and manipulating purposes,
leaves only faul things left
from a poisoned garden.

MY heart is a land now,
gone bare, grey..
dark,
and darker...
hurting,
sinking,
falling, failing....
regression,
taking over,
dwelling in a place now,
more of cold lands, all together,
and a very dimming light.

But don't worry.
That's just me.
"I'm fine".

I don't know "fine", anymore, than I used to,
and even that, is no grand comparison.

They wiped the floor with me.
I don't know where she went...
but madness, is a slow cooking in a pot...

And I was done so long ago.
to think...
one single act of LOVE could have prevented it...

just one passerbyer..
willing to turn off the boil.

The Bluebird & Man

Tears elapse, to string riffs, 

And the melting of the cosmos 

Into liquid. 

Single tears form drip-

The ears hearing rivers 

That make her cry. 

The birds dwindling away, 

To memory..

The crickets and reeds, here now, 

But soaked in years of change, 

And a threat only the more imminent, 

As time passes. 

The person, I have come to be, 

Is only innocent in heart. 

Like the memory of the birds, 

Long gone. 

And the growing plague, 

And the deafening drones, 

The nation goes rott 

With man's black heart, 

Tarring everything. 

Who's mercy am I at? 

Not merely my own perhaps? 

Or perhaps? 

Far reaches, life has only become some far away, unachievable dream, 

As "we were tought" to dream. 

She dreams no longer much, 

But for freedom. 

Regressing from an open birch to a cage now, in her lands now...

Where man has tarred everything. 

Once blue, 

I am only shades of grey now. 

Somewhere beneath, 

Remain the light. 

Still, my heart is tarred. 

Because I am man. 

And she, my bluebird, 

Is the Goddess, I cage tight. 

So tight. 

With mean ferocity. 

The BlackHole

The point of life, 

Collapses like a star, 

Taking everything with it. 

Taking man, and life, it made...

And swallowing up man's tyranny and man's love. 

 

What will be lost and what will be gained 

Is but a question, 

But here, I long to be reborn, 

A star again. 

And to die, to everything that has been 

In the handed justice of history; an injustice pervasive. 

Wars and love lost, 

As I am swallowed whole. 

Receiving once more, 

The death of everything's breath, 

And perhaps a memory of who we really are. 

For to die here, is a blind-man's death. 

The Enchanted Lily

In all her beauty, 

She will wilt- 

Stretching up, not for long, 

For her soil is poisoned, like her air...

And the sun 

May not be the only thing that can sustain her. 

The T word

They are ghost hands. 

Black rod irons, 

And people thinking and speaking in the mundane. 

Tongues become transparent and lucid, 

Sheltering only reality mostly, 

As somethings spill, 

Shattering reality, 

And what is. 

I, 

Am the Black Raven, 

And white, 

As forms shift, 

And shift, 

By the night. 

Transparent, and Mysterious, 

Phoenix , and Owl

Shepard & Lion, 

We dance. 

Summoning the great rivers to flood, and floodgates open, as this is the war 

For Heaven and Hell. 

The damned, like the dam, breaks; 

Floods. 

Past, meets it's consequence. 

Hatred meets love. 

And love finds hatred, 

And roles reverse, 

While we, 

Die. 

 

We die here. 

While they, 

Cover it all up. 

But lucidly, 

We all dwell in realms of transparency, so we can not not fully know, now can we?

It will always be there hiding somewhere; 

The truth. 

The Subtleties

The subtlety fractures; 

I feel them. 

As I merge from a smoke hatch, 

My senses acclimate...

And the first thing I notice, 

Is my broken heart- 

The sadness is something I have to search for words to understand, 

Let alone describe. 

And I think about 

How the subtlety 

Is subtleties fractured. 

Man is infinitely, 

Each his own. 

And I think about that that differs 

A man from fully giving into his sorrows, 

Much the way a women may give over to her lust, or a person to their greed, 

Or a decision in the face of two impossibilities. 

The subtlties fracture my mind. 

In some ways, 

I am the energies more than they will ever be me. 

But seems most often, equally I must lay. 

Sometimes stand...

Love's Run River

Hidden away, 

They may never know the contents of my soul. 

It is the thing that makes me hold my breath when I wake, reminding me to breathe again- "it's okay". 

Standing outside of myself most days, 

I can not comprehend even, 

With all these thoughts; 

Notions like intuition, 

Over and over, and time again; 

But with Reality's "set-in". 

Love runs scarcely. 

Black, to void it's eye. 

Cosmic overtake. 

I anchor, as words become silt. 

Energy impressions and action, 

Where love runs like river's dry. 

Scarcely, 

Have I found any valleys that might 

Run over with seeds abundant. 

Scarcely has their been a shelter to live by. 

Fractured becomes, the element. 

The scarcity fractures sanity, like cognition. 

Foggy things torment, until the cloud is elusive but hails in no light. 

Bringer and becomer of light; 

That is what man is. 

Inherent, both destroyer and might, 

Shadow and light, 

Spectrums of ever, I between veils, and veils, 

That will never truly exist. 

Fractured becoming awake. 

And dying like never before. 

And dying like never before. 

Yellow Brick Road

You will never fit. 

Two shades, sultry. 

My head turning to face the wall while I lay on my stomach; giving up. 

The shades in her are grey. 

Grey only. 

He will never know the stare out of the bus window through her eyes. 

He will never appreciate the effortlessness of her fingertips on blades in the kitchen...

And how she makes cooking, look easy. 

The headaches dislodge, 

While the rampant in her brings storms with no forecast. 

The days are taken from me, 

The way my heart has become chipped away at-

But perhaps the pressures have faceted Ruby's there.

And Emerald's ray. 

He will never know, the sweet of falling in love with her, by morning light, 

And laughter consuming like a cursed breeze. 

He will never know, the trust I carry, nor lending it into him in my ease. 

I don't know why I would ever let this man take from me. 

Like pulling open curtains, and finally seeing the reflection I didn't know was there. 

Like loving him, was all about me. 

In the good sort of way. 

Making me better, and he, 

Well he, was free to make of it as he pleased. 

And I don't believe, that there was anything kind. 

Not ONE truly kind thing he did. 

Unless to leave me. 

That may be the only thing we'd really agreed on...

Against our will. 

Or very much for his. 

But, 

It's like watching Hannibal, eat. 

Cold. Unrelenting. Not sorry. 

Well I'm sorry. 

I am. 

Hurt in ways love had burned furies in my heart, 

And now a cold crater, left with trenches of impacts and governed like emotions to the moon. 

Lifeless, I find reason to laugh, 

But the days are like sands and winds to my house of hearts ;

House of cards, 

Faces ever tumbling down. 

I think, "who would ever love me now?", 

Kicking rocks, and walking alone, 

So well, the way, I do- 

The dirt gravel...

She is my star. 

Frozen Over

I am cold. 

Like the heart fauled up, and a morning chill in not enough clothes. 

Succumbed and Seduced, 

I do not know, waking up, 

Where my Soul lays. 

Lies to wake me up; 

And breed. 

Lies to wake me dear, 

And drown me. 

Lies to hold me down, 

Silently screaming in water underneath, 

And there, the hands that hold me, 

Like trust breaking innocence 

In bikes ways, 

And forever. 

She searches, chilly, 

Looking for it again. Blizzards kill hope, as though awaiting for your own lost death. 

I am dying and have been dying a long, time, a long death, 

And maybe that's what she meant, by saying "you don't actually die when you die". 

But rather awake again, I wonder? 

I am tired about EVERYTHING in this life. 

Isn't it a lie, to freeze that over? 

To not want more, some way? 

Because I do, but I can't find it here. 

Here, 

With Hell frozen over. 

Like Love

I guess you could say, 

That when she left, 

She smeared my heart in purple deep; shadowed. 

And then, as the rain, seemed to melt the holograms around me, 

I noticed how some things were changed forever, 

And others forever, would remain; 

Like Love. 

Questions permiate on this fire escape with coffee and wind. 

"Heartless" plays, making me smile to myself; this song reminded me of her last I heard it. 

I had thought to myself, "how could I have been so wrong?", 

But dismiss the egoic question, as Ariel seeks to finish putting pieces together. 

Will she ever be done? 

The space to myself, is a processing of just so much, 

As so much continues to fill up who I am, 

As I search still for a resting place, 

In this world of my life. 

Looking out, I see a world buzzing by, and so many things I don't want anymore, nor want to be a part of; 

I search my mind for reasonable solutions. 

"I'm sorry", I say to myself within, consistent with my notion that I've let myself down. 

Perhaps that's a mean thing to think. 

We have let eachother down. 

Ourselves. 

Perhaps that is just real. 

What is in me, is soft, and windy, like whisps of serene over tall grasses, 

And infinite dream; 

A dream that died in some parts of so big a land. 

Maybe what makes me different is how much I long for home; but not here. 

This has never been it. 

Hope never died though. It remained alive. In every life lost, and in every war won, the past would never cease to be what our human light brought to it. 

No, nor, how our own shadows would be vessels to snuff it out, oh my. 

Yet, hope, in nuances created over time, emerging like symphonies and years 

Of blood, and sweat; repressed, our pains would thrive, and though weakening, our hope, would fight to stay alive. 

I have watched her go silent; 

Less, and less, and less to say. 

Seeing almost everything now, and now the getaway is simply to fly free home again, through notes, and chords, that may still remind her, 

Where the sacred exists and can be found. 

It is her home now. 

But she dies and apologizes to herself, 

That she's not so good with the "down-here" stuff; 

Not so good assimilating to a people that don't recognize in her, what to them is foreign; 

But I've lived here all my life. 

Things tie me. I let them. 

Like my mother, though I need to leave. 

What's here anymore for me? 

A city and a land, I can not call home. 

Amongst millions and yet alone. 

Fevers burn, while I sit here, out looking the city, seeing how much none of it belongs to me. 

30 years. 

That's how long it's been. 

And I feel like I am just getting out of prison and trying to make a life for myself in a world it didn't used to be. 

Purpose and drive carry me

Follow me, 

Like breath, so deep, it won't separate from me. 

Yet, I have been lost here so many times, 

As though Alice, but with less fortune; 

Stuck mazing a hole, when above, people burn. My land burns, and I can't for the life of me get out; 

Like a sick joke, 

Watching, it all...

So like tracing falls, and lucid dreams, it is an acid-trip I take in my sleep, 

Feeling the still screaming underneathe 

Of wanting to get free, so I can climb, climb, all the way out. 

Then wake, to find that I was only dreaming...

Still in maze's beds...

And music boxes haunting me. 

Underneathe, I hear laughing as I run, 

While the music boxes turn. 

They make it seem as if time is taunting me. 

Things paralyze me. 

Immobilize. And I find myself curled up often; not able to get out. 

Everything that is real in me, 

Is false in this world.

As if we have become inherent enemies, 

And are made enemies this out of family, friends. 

Both worlds are shot; the illusion and the ground above; 

Nuclear poison reaks havoc. 

Within, and without. 

When I return above, 

What will be left? 

Rubble, and robots; 

Dazed hopes lost. 

Love scattered all over in blood, 

And wept in tears by those who lost, and have lost for too long? 

The rabbit whole twists me, 

But it is just a product from above. 

Anything but a dream after all. 

I am the experimented on. 

The next generation. 

We will come out, no better...

At least that is the expected in our loss of hope; yet fueled may my insanities drive me back into the depths of life. 

And may purpose re-ignite a forbidden and lost life, within me; 

And all that it will ever remain alive for. 

There is Love in war; but only present within the each of us. 

We are the sacred. 

This is why we are repressed. 

And thrown down rabbit holes. 

And burned alive. 

You can not fight fire, 

With fire. 

We are burned alive. 

And immortal forever. 

Burned alive; 

You can not fight fire, 

With fire. 

The Smell of Hell

I am young, but I have breathed in much. 

The fragile of life, like the flower- it's desolance like it's infinity-

Found in both, 

The peace and shadow 

Of all life. 

There has been something I have missed too many years, a longing, a beckoning, 

A wish to leave. 

The smell of wrong in the air, permiated me; 

It was something of invisible faul's that I just couldn't place. 

I kept walking. 

I kept watching. 

The smell only deepened; 

And like madness, I grew to smell it no more, until a fauler one I crossed. 

Never really realizing, it'd never leave, 

Until simple memory. 

Traces back. 

And all at once, I'd be jolted again, 

To the invisible subtlties

That would never leave; 

That indeed, had never gone. 

As cement is dirtied with trash and disease, so once there was blood. 

As children once raised their hand in class, but still a system we built on Indian land. 

And maybe Indian, is the way, not the people, but we lived another instead--

And forcing out, 

We forced out, 

A way of life for one dead. 

There are some who cry, from the moment they are birthed, 

I always riding OUR veil, as my tale, 

As well. Knowing luxury still where treachery is the smell, 

And yet living on the faul, and feelings of HELL, 

Because indeed my Heaven, 

Is so far away. 

I am the ill, here, amongst those who know too many luxuries; 

I am the smell to the pleasance of their odolitries; the mirror to our face in Hell, 

But only because I lived and am "awaked", which they can't know, 

Do I do, and do it, so well. 

The Painter

If we can, there is a picnic table 

Dripping with excursions and promises, 

But I, bemused, 

Lay myself down today...

To what I ask not anymore of, from certain things. 

Soaking in a bathtub, 

And cloaked with gown, 

The water is raining in ceilings high, 

And I choose, I choose, 

To walk the night sky; 

I choose, I choose to put this life down, 

And walk in the parade of "crazy town". 

You beckon me, then deny me on the grounds that I'd ever respond,

And if this is life, then I am in crazy town. 

Porcelain, paint, and words, with coloured hands, as she makes a mess of what's inside, without. 

She...walks away, then leaves, then returns and means, 

To turn and go again, but can not. 

He throws her out with the dogs, but watches her walk, in the farthest distance, turning around, she considers walking back. 

And black, seems to be oozing like charcoal and tar around hearts here...

She knowing, 

Stays with the demons, to live him and be loved by him; 

He throws her out again with the dogs, but Not before bringing her in for a conversation. 

That is the world she lives in. 

But she knows she can walk away, 

Any time. 

Or so she tells herself. 

Or so she says. 

Winged Sky

Darling..

You drive in me madness and craze- 

The kind that seems to ride some tight-ripe of Heaven and Hell, 

But Hell moreover, 

Where I wonder if burning 

Will give flame to an arisal 

Born and become forth. 

"My only love sprung from my only hate"...

As I watch her banter back and forth, 

almost becoming as two, 

Over you. 

She fights, like a tornado would the plain's houses it has nothing to do with. 

In It's nature, 

It destroys 

By existing alone. 

In her nature, 

Shadow exists like riding fine lines on all things.

And my fuck, 

I love this man that burns like Christ, 

For and against the land and it's people. 

And I burn as well, 

But it is not persay, having to do with him..

Or it it? 

And my love...

My god, 

Is gone...

Needing to be kissed like Envy, 

And sank, in floating arms 

And waters smooth.

 

I hear, demons along side angels...

Am I?

And I love him, 

And I am apologizing all around, aren't I?  

All along..

Mostly to him, because somehow I feel dispised, 

And am I? Or must I? 

As dreams die with breath, 

And in deathly dreams we die, 

And in you, my dearest love, 

I hate you, and you know this, 

And why does wrong feel so right, 

Oh past arising like being loved the wrong way, was right?...

And I, am a vampire as well. 

Yet, wings I have, that beat, and ache, 

They ache, 

Like my chest 

Over this time here on earth. 

And you.

Because I choose, and I always have, 

And no, 

I know, I don't. 

And smiles. 

In the Distance

Hark, 

Thy longing endured, and denied, 

As I see by the weep in his eyes, 

The nay in his brow, 

As believes he, unworthy o' so fair 

A thing. 

Between veils, blankets, and dreams, 

We lay, like two hands with glass that cuts our worlds in two. 

I think I am seeing you, 

And your five-fingers pressed against cold see-through, for me, 

Yet, not I can know, 

That on the other side 

Of the glass I stare through, 

If it but mere, 

Projection. 

Darling, 

In my heart of guts, 

I feed you and 

Feed on, 

And simply madden, I am with no seperation at all, 

Yet I see by how you live, 

You might as well not exhist, 

You are so far from me, by me, 

And in who I am. 

I think it by mere consequence of the stars, no coincidence at all..

The distance calls in whispers I've heard all my life, 

And then in ways never before- 

Something plunders and calls to me..

Winds, fierce and call in all their transitions. 

All Over

She...

Is this thing, this tiny gigantic thing that reaches up out of now where...

Nowhere at all...

And breathes

Life. 

From nothing, 

There became something. 

From no thing, 

There emerged ruptures of raptures, 

And colours, 

And life and breath, 

Like passion and making love, 

To undisturbed sequences in melodies of stars. 

She Burst, 

I swear to you, 

Life becoming all in one eminent motion, 

The birth of thousands of galaxies, 

Love spilling over, 

Over, 

Over , 

Everywhere. 

And death being sweeter than anything thought before, 

As she arises high, 

Before descending back to body's width and returning home once more, 

Where indeed she may 

Spread..

Spread all over the dark and light of existence. 

My idol sings songs of the devil, 

But I see the divine, 

Making all clear again, or so I tried...

Laying back in bed now, 

To sleepless dreams and long melodic lucid nights 

Of escape, running etherial, 

All over. 

Needing love, but she's found it, 

On the inside like coffee...

And hands, in gestures of painting and hugs. 

Like eyes, and glances, and love til death, 

And love to life..

And like miracles. 

All over.

She trapsed all over...

And gave thanks to the mother that raised this wild thing 

While cutting her loose 

To a world she'd learn from. 

Goodbye's are only fair wells. 

And I am only 

On my way. 

Looking Glass

I am falling apart 

On the day the rest of my life will continue. 

Words want to flood, like zillions of becoming expressions, 

Before death abides my aching body. 

Worry not.

It is not depressed that I am, 

Rather realized. 

Matter melts and my wings are torched, 

My flames taking over everything including my heart, 

As I am head up, 

And facing the sky. 

Arms stretched...

Into the I AM. 

Life is fragile, while we walk by. 

And she lives a silent death

Yet ruptures in songs and storms 

For the Earth. 

In it, 

People like us, die...

A silent death, 

While screaming all along. 

A Partisan 

To what death brings to our eyes. 

A pardon....

Of everything passed. 

The Song Jay

My mind sits to pick apart 

The every obsession and element, 

This man takes over in my life. 

I eat up his TV SHOW, 

And say it's good for me. 

Compliments slip...

And I can't tell what he wants from me or what they mean. 

I try to take time for myself, 

Especially when he enters my life. 

Because love becomes with him, 

An eternal waiting game. 

And the air, grows a chill, 

Like this time last year... Close to when he reappeared. 

And I have grown a distance more internal as I am suck back into myself, 

Processing, 

Processing, 

Processing. 

His words are turned over, everything I can remember. 

Cruelty, spun in non-threatening manners, 

'Til, I am crying and another year has passed, 

Of disregard and loose tongue's that ought rather to be sown shut

He, is a man, I love stupidly...

As though to do so 

Disregards any love this thing, myself, 

Ought to have turned inwards. 

Nevertheless, 

To love him not seems far harder a fight than to love him as relentlessly as I do. 

And yet, to be anywhere near him, 

Seems a fight too. 

And it is a joke, I think; cosmically for and not against me...

As I endeavor to sit, and pick 

Apart what had happened to me, 

Since he has entered here. 

Who have I become? 

What does it mean to love? 

What are expectations? 

What are mine? And his???

I laid in bed, 

Attempting to let the words sink; 

Wanting them too. 

"You need to let me go, Ariel. I'm an asshole". 

They bobbed there instead on the surface. I felt the way my mother's eyes look when I have said something over her head- everything in his sentence, 

Was over my head. 

They bobbed there, 

And I laid there, 

And from nothing, tears spilled, rolling down my cheek. 

What could I say to a truth I knew was right, but could not understand? 

And he laughed. 

And I loved him more, like some sick joke. 

And he is always gone, 

Where all I want is the company of his heart; a thing he claims to be poisoned and rotted away; 

His words echo, echo...

"Clown"

"Bitch" 

And his slipping slow changing tone as he uttered 

"I don't want to hurt you"...

Because I could feel he meant it. 

FEEL it..

I could FEEL...it. 

The love, there somewhere. 

And the sad truth, 

That he would. 

He knows he will...

And he always has. 

Still, 

Call me crazy, 

It has been three years, 

And we have come this far. 

Far enough for him to show me kindness, a softitude, 

Where before there was nothing. 

Still...

Loving people like him, 

You never know which part of what they show is real. And even when you think you do, 

They may try to trick you; anything to win the hand at power. 

He doesn't see he has been playing chess with a mere bird. 

What power could he possibly need to wield over me, this life of mine. 

Simple. Just here for the company. 

Needing only that, and a finger or two. 

The Surrender

There is a shadow of the night, 

Come to take away my soul. 

So I take another pill, 

And guzzle down, the pain with the water; 

He seeks to steal 

What is lost, and now lays awake at night. 

I love him...

Teeth fierce with fury and wounds..

Entranced, 

I lay, 

To this shadow in my bed...

All looks enticing 

And I watched as my organs bled, 

To see if this vampire to the night, 

Could grow a soul, 

From where love has been spilled out of my blood, 

And into His mouth, 

And Into his heart...

For something innocent once more. 

Why would she risk her life for a Demon? 

Why would she lay down her sword, 

And instead crawl into bed, waiting, 

This angel, oh once Divine? 

Maybe the ways down here, have turned her, indeed to understand too much a demon's fate. 

And while she says she will never become one...

She lays wondering, 

If it's already too late. 

The Barter

It is my own fault, man..that I believed in you. 

So as I roll over to get myself up, I think on that...

And stand. 

And go about...

Trying to balance, 

This life. 

Dark Paradise

I guess,
its a good thing...

a "dark paradise"
that in this life, I have never been loved back
in ways to die for..

and to die happy.

This way, I can say, that while I have lost, and lost many,
I can move forward because I have loved enough, with everything I had
and fiercely-
I loved deeply,
and even into completion

and yet,
maybe the blessing is that
not as sweetly
have they loved me back;
they had not completion for me.

I was never protected,
but by the wings above me.

and though, she, my mother here,
has been the epitome of "thine" hell..

at least,
she did
what no man,
and no woman,
and no other but the angels
have done.

She protected me,
with everything she had,

as we went on embracing this dark paradise together;
and I had no idea
how much in her
I lay.

She is me, weeping. gathering up strength she'd barely ever had.
Living in a world that would deny her,
everything.

everything.

and with me,
she grabbed my hand,
and kept a foot...
even when i was weeping and tied to the ground,
not to go on
another day.

I blamed her,
for the dark paradise that we bore together.

and now i weep for us both,
as i take her hand and search for a way out,
still, with no promises that i will not let go.

I already have.
wishing for death
like a sweet release into a paradise i once knew,
that resembles nothing here..

only barren ash and pain compared to what i was born from.

how do i muster the strength to keep going?
accept that simply,
I

just
must?

For her.
for myself.

For the Ariel, that was never let out of her room.

I must..
i must...

free us all. 

Fleeting

The city is lonely, getting off work, and looking at the far dark distance, 

Lights hovering to an almost black ocean, 

And the wind beckoning me. 

A search for peace 

Leads me to the memories in her 

I had to let go...

And I sit back and let it fall into me, how she will be gone soon, like Summer..

And just like I predicted. 

But, she only comes In, 

After him, 

As I read the night sky, 

And sigh, 

Knowing it never had to come to this. 

So instead, 

I walk out alone, from a job I tell myself to be grateful for..

And I repress the fleeting feeling, that longs, for the suffering to be eased. 

Companionship, the cure to a droning society...

But it is no cure for me. 

Just like, it almost feels, 

There is no place for me either. 

I let it be fleeting- knowing it's all something I have to let go. 

Also knowing, 

That's all I know, 

And I'm tired of ripping pieces from my soul, only to watch them leave. 

No other choice but for it to be okay. 

What it was, wasn't love anyway. 

Become

As time slows, 

I rush, less and less...

And the things that once mattered, find a hollowness..

And as time rushes, I slow...

Knowing all points have receded...

For there is something deaperate in the air, the kind that calls for something needed. 

And the needed thing, may never occur, 

In just one night alone..

So as I slow..

I make such a place, 

For what's needed to become my soul. 

The Invisible War over Earth

Opening your eyes to evil; 

All the things that were masked. 

Waking up, in a similar bed, 

But the world turning differently now, 

And fantasies, 

And fantasies, 

Are lucid torments. 

And you, and you, 

Play...

And Angel's stake, 

Watching with you, 

The demons play..

The demons feed...

The war a thing Human's rarely see...

'Til one day, 

You arrive in a similar bed, 

And become blinded by the light, 

Or raised by the Lucifer they have framed, 

Up on the cross, 

So long ago... 

Now watching you bestow 

Glorious images in his name...

Yet gone, by another. 

You call Lucifer, Christ, 

And Christ he is indeed, 

As the nations run spilled over with blood, 

And how, 

And how, 

The demons feed, you ignorant fools. 

Waking up...

Is deafening. 

Nowhere to be, no thing to do, understanding wiped 

From everything that was. 

Waking up is Deathening..

Deathening. 

And they will never know, 

The puppets, the agenda...

They will simply tally back in spellbound motion, 

As they are fed enough, but never the right thing. 

And the moment came, alas..

As the moment the angels were waiting for in her history...

The moment that could make or break her...

And she woke up blind..

Realized, 

In why it all hurt, 

So much. 

The war, was real. 

http://youtu.be/-setoH6PZG0

Author's note:  the link is sited that was inspiration for this piece. 

As a psychic, I feed on signs and the beyond. As a prophet, not self-proclaimed, but self understood, all I can do is share in words, deeds, and actions on behalf of the "lightworkers" agenda. 

In understanding what is being masked to us, we will wake up, more than they can bare, (the darkside agenda and "agents") and we WILL THEN remember our inate power so BRIGHT, 

Darkness can "reign" no more. 

#educate

As Mean as You Seem

Dear man...

I love you. 

Perhaps I always did. 

Perhaps I always will. 

You will yourself at me. 

Towards me. 

Against me. 

I play, because indeed, a victim may fall in her own innocence;

A heart unriddled. 

And though I love you, 

It is my love 

That will not succumb, 

Though you think I have. 

We both, can play and say. 

We both, also know what lays deep. 

You, 

Push me to leave me, 

And I watch and let you, glad. 

We both know. 

We both know we love me more than that. 

I, also, love you more than that. More than letting you, 

Hurt me. 

It is a foolish heart, that believes in you, my sweetheart. 

But what a smart heart, to know, it is not the time, and I am not the one. 

I love you. 

Maybe you understand what I mean. 

Like how loving you, could also be the worst thing for me, if we let you inch any closer. 

So, I even love you for looking out for me, as mean, as mean, as you seem. 

The Way of Snuff

Trying to lighten loads, 

I've lost myself. 

Maybe, 

That's why it dawned on me to day. 

How, if the world is a dark place, 

Then representing the light will be an arduous journey, 

Not a simple one. 

Not an easy one. 

Not a "light" one. 

Not even, necessarily a happy one...

Especially, 

If the light is my only mission, in the darkest of place, 

Where all who gather, 

Seek to snuff it out. 

Then...

I imagine, 

To be tracked, 

Becomes the only way. 

The Road

I feel lost. 

Not hopeless...

But near. 

Still turning my wheels with a roaring engine...

But is there a cliff towards which I vere? 

My soul, is tired. 

My body aches. 

My heart, broken...

My aim, wandering..

More and more...

It's wandering. 

 

And before 30, 

I make that turn, 

No end in sight...

Fear..

Takes over again. 

Shelter. 

Safety. 

Hopelessness... 

Fatigue. 

My insides, weary. 

I take that ride, 

But it slows and stops. 

I'm lost. 

The Around

There is a love, 

In the vast magnitude. 

And yes, 

In the smokey air, 

Or even our blood...

When we sit, 

Indeed, 

It is there. 

Perhaps being the only REAL thing...

That will ever matter. 

Saturated

In the night, will I hoop into you, 

Or roll over you? 

Will I refrain, victim every time, 

Oh Powerful Dauntress to do my mass. 

Drunken spill-iards, 

Shade the cloud of a longing that has become saturated

With understanding to it's own light

And the shadow of it's existence. 

Nothing will make sense where things are let go, 

So go, 

Let go...

All over the place

, 

And sturdily.

In an ease of transmotion, 

The grace we sweep under the rug, 

or fain to break away in example of something truer; 

Like innocent grace.

And innocent succession. 

Submission. 

Disgrace. 

It is a line greyed, with grey entity; 

Loved over after a lifetime, 

And left floating, adrift, 

Amidst moonlight currents, 

And chanting seas, to a mapled time lapse recognition. 

So I...

Adrift 

To the enchanting rolling winds and float with hair in air

And hang suspended 

Hooping, hopping into time.

Vortex, after vortex, 

In saturated, 

Channeling 

Stream. 

As I am the current...

And the current is me, 

But then there is a body that is dancing, 

And I am that too...

All spilled. 

All over the place. 

Composure Carnival

As I break it 

Open, I see that what was 

Is, no longer. 

What resides instead 

Is a composure, 

Comprised 

Of balloons. 

Carnivals..Fantasies, ...

And delicate affairs, 

Ever to be tampered with, 

'Til the cat" loses her sight. 

The cages hold beasts untamed...

Things we can not name or claim, 

To be domesticated. 

Balloons Pop. 

Don't get too close to the cage. 

Balloons pop. 

That Con

If perhaps I still love her, 

Then I hate her as well...

Looking upon her shell, 

And glimpses reveal me moments of memories, 

And moments of memories more, 

Sweet, followed by bitter, 

As together, the picture collides to assemble itself 

In my memory bank. 

The used was just as real as the love, 

But I think, it must have been not...

So if anybody ever loved, 

Then perhaps it was I. 

Now, hence, a replacement of hate...

Because lies coagulated entire sceneries 

Of 5 months a fantasy 

I turned eyes from. 

But if I hate her, it is because I love her. 

The kind of love, that doesn't fade, but indeed may change...

As it has. 

I love her, because I know her...

Because I love her. 

No explaination, and even undeserving...

Yet..

Fault and all, I love her, as I have loved her, 

Yet this day,

I allow the hate to flood, for never had I thought, she would do, 

What she did...

Nay, though, for I was the fool- 

Never her. 

Her skin is bright with cloak, and reveals broken charms for all sorts of arms; 

It was I, 

Who did not see. 

Now that I have, I forgive thee...

But ne'er may she have again, 

What she had stolen and taken away from me. 

I was a fool, valiant in my own victim, 

Easy prey...

And she preyed without thought, 

Because I was easy for it. 

"Friend" in her world, the kind of word that has no shadow, no value, no existence; dropped in an instance, 

The word no more than the man. 

Spoken, forgotten. 

Never meant a thing. 

I squeezed life, from her existence in me. 

I loved how she frayed, and then one day, finally, all shadows with Greys, merely feigned to black. 

I became parched, and dry, and dead...

And looking around..

No head. 

No heart, no eyes in sight...

"Friend"'s appeared out of a deafening light..shaking the earth, I could barely see, the hands that reached for me. 

And as I was given reach up, nay, she was nowhere to be seen...

Even after all she's stolen..

Dreams, and hearts colliding..

As what she'd taken from me. 

Her eyes bright with love, my illusion. My memory of her loving me. She'd stolen away with that, as though my heart were Gold...

Never to be seen again. 

Con..

Artist. 

Con. 

Artist. 

So many cons. 

This artist. This love. This love of mine. 

If I hate her, 

It is because I love her. 

I still love her. 

I may always love her. 

She was beautiful to me. 

And simply now...

I am happy 

To shatter, 

     That dream. 

Sociopath's venom

Somebody tell her to eat something. 

Tell her...

To breathe. 

"Keep breathing. 

Now deep...into your belly"

I drink to slow down my pounding heart rate. Not this time, to numb or forget... No...

I just need to breathe. 

I just need to breathe...

Release it...the panick...

And breathe. 

The dubious natures that elude me, 

Stab me...

My gut is wrenching and I can not seem to find the knife stuck there. 

And if I could...

I would walk away from this one; 

This one...

An unreal testament 

To the deaths we find hidden 

In sociopathic mind...

Trailblazing in venoms

To pierce already broken bodies; 

How many times have I written, 

That I am just so tired 

In this life? 

Poisoned

There is no sense of me that feels lovely.

Instead I feel ugly, and unworthy..

And I'm waiting for the pain to stop torrenting me. 

There is no sense of drinking this away...

And the smoke, I scrape together 

To give me some sense of come-to; 

My chest aches as if my entire top half is splitting in two beneathe the skin; 

I keep quiet. 

I heave, and bare witness, to something horrendous...but I say nothing to no one, 

About the breaking

That is occuring...

Like phnemonia. 

I can't breathe lately. 

And my chest aches and aches til I cry and cry...

But sometimes silently...

The streams just come. 

It is the calmest breaking I have ever seen...

Underneathe, she dies a torcherous death- one she wishes were her last. 

Lies. 

Feed on her like snake venom...sickening the cells..

My body is wrought with writhe...

And my God, I tell myself, now-

It has to be done now. 

The Clause

Sometimes...

It really hard, knowing what to do with her- She'll give me as many as two completely opposite "signals" in a matter of 5 minutes..

But then the days pass. 

"You're such a fucking tease" laughs out of mouth, and a shaking head", as I watch her wiggle her barely covered ass with more "tail" as I state that. 

But then she tells me, I shouldn't think about her; 

Drunken tempers I imagine, 

Reflecting very lost sights. 

Loving her, 

Is something else entirely...

But is it? 

How seriously she tried to tell me she thinks she crazy last night, 

Before tripping on me...

Leaving me...

Trying to understand, where she went. 

I pleaded for once! 

For once, I said something: 

"Hey! Hey! Where are you right now?! Talk to me! What are you doing?! What's going on with you right now?"

"I'm drunk", she says, eyes on her phone...

Somewhere else. 

Somewhere seemingly far. 

"I'm gonna go, I think"...

I say, as I grab up some of my things- 

She looks to the side, my way, eyes mad; 

They're telling me don't. 

I don't....

Get her...

But maybe, I'm starting to. 

As words echo on my mind and heart, the same push and pull, adept. 

The same. Months later, the same. 

She has always scared me...bit I just went through the process. 

I love her. 

I think, perhaps, I just always did. 

"Why can't you just find a "Nice girl who will treat you right", Judi Says. 

After last night, I'm thinking...

Maybe she was right.