Blogs

At the funeral of souls

everyone's the singer of their own death song

at the funeral of souls.

I'm sorry for the guilt inside my head.

I don't know where it came from 

but I wish that I were dead.

These words tumble out,

they no longer have meaning.

A thousand fruitless gleamings 

of a thousand fruitless thoughts.

I know I sound so stupid.

I wish I could shut up.

The conversation I just killed

lies littered at my feet.

I touch the empty phrases,

twitching gently, with my toe

and I wish I had something more to say.

The alchemist tells us

that our golden dreams

cannot turn to rust.

But the alchemist was burned alive

like a pig roasted on a spit

oh, so savory!

When all our hopes fade away,

the idealism of youth is replaced

by the cynicism of truth,

and we can see the world for

what it really is.

But, the cynics that we are,

we must laugh

for it is the only way

we can hide.

Oh alchemy, save me from the doom

of the golden dreams

the sparkling glimmers of hope

the shining rays of the sun 

of tomorrow.

I cannot be disappointed again.

If you're afraid of me,

just tell me.

It's ok

because I am too.

But don't just say no like that.

You can't just run away

without telling me why.

I guess I understand

I wouldn't like me either

and maybe my selfish needs

have formed a wall.

I'm sorry, I guess.

I just wish you'd tell me

yes

or

no

and leave it at that

because I don't deserve a second chance.

Doll me up and dull me down

Paint a smile to hide a frown.

You say you're cold, your heart is black,

but really you're an insomniac

remembering those perfect lies

told through smiles and honest eyes.

Spinning around on a 

carousel

sickeningly sweet music

drifting through hazy dreams of childhood

lurching, gasping

we fall to

as if drawn to it.

Poisoned, entranced, we ride

again and again

up and down until

it stops

and we are shaken 

from our reverie

on a carousel.

Can we pretend for a little while

that when you see me, you start to smile?

If we pretend, then I'll close my eyes

and we can forget all each others' lies.

Can we dream for a little more?

Don't wake me up yet, I beg, I implore.

If we dream, then reality

will float away on a velvet sea.

Can we stay in each others' arms,

safe from danger, safe from harm?

If we hold on until the end

maybe my wounds will start to mend.

Can we let go if we desire?

I tried to run far away from this fire.

If we let go I'll surely break,

If we let go I'll surely break.

"Won't you come with me,

my pretty one, you'll see

a world of pleasure and gain.

Give me your hand, little one,

I'll be your moon and sun,

I'll keep you from all pain."

"You know my heart is yours,

my soul, my body, of course,

I'll trust it to your hands.

Save me when I slip,

my little hand in your grip,

as we go across these lands."

"Come in close, pretty girl,

you're my diamond and pearl,

you fill my dreams with light.

Let me hold you, my treat,

let me breathe in your sweet,

I'll lead you into the night."

"Where are we going, my dear?

Don't think I've ever been here,

but I'll trust you know the way.

What a quiet place,

we can stare into space

and stay here until light of day."

"Shut your mouth now, my peach.

You're nothing more than a leech

sucking the life out of me.

So close your eyes, this won't hurt,

smile and take off your shirt.

Smile, that's what I want to see."

"Wait, I thought that you cared!

Where's the love that we shared?

Keep your filthy hands to yourself!

The greedy look in your eyes--

all of those words were just lies.

I'm just a trophy to put on your shelf."

"You're a bitch and you need

to learn when to take heed

so get on your knees now and beg.

Oh, so you won't obey?

Not my fault, now you'll pay."

----

When you look at me like that

I can almost see

the worms crawling from between your teeth.

When you look at me like that

I can almost hear

people screaming, people full of fear.

When you look at me like that

I can almost feel

your skin, it festers and it starts to peel.

When you look at me like that

I can almost smell

rotting bodies and a second hell.

When you look at me like that

I can almost taste

decaying human flesh from maidens chaste.

When you look at me like that

When you look at me

The darkness

the epitome of all anti-good

the temptress

and I,

weak of heart and will,

succumb with willing heart.

I, fickle youth,

am floating limply on the sea--

the sea of stagnation

a festering wound bleeding pestilent life

and they wish they never were.

She never had a chance

she never had a chance

she never had a chance

she never--

Always wondering

is one always searching

a sorry excuse

for a human different--

or like us all,

for we are all truly searching

eternally

for complete happiness

which we know will never come.

But we may dream.

She beckons softly

with a smile

a toothy smile, a wolf's smile

and a gentle crook of the daintiest of fingers

which would send any man

scrambling to follow.

A laugh from somewhere

and it takes her a moment

to realize that it is hers

as she slides out of her trance

for but an instant.

But at once she must forget all

because otherwise

she will remember

and will be even more frightened than before.

He follows her--who wouldn't?--

and off they go

to a neverland far away

yet it is too close for her.

She was hoping she would forget

maybe

if she went far enough

if he was different

if he wasn't him.

But at that touch,

strange and foreign and unfamiliar,

she realizes that it's no use

for they are all the same.

A tear for sure

and maybe she can wash away

the memories

of that touch, so unwanted

but it's not likely.

He hurts and she hurts and he hurts to see she hurts and she hurts to see he hurts

and she wishes it would end

she wishes, oh! She wishes!

But nightmares have a funny way

of coming back to haunt

just when you thought they never would.

And the monsters pop out of the closet

when you've almost fallen asleep.

She would not fall asleep.

That gentle beckoning finger was not her own,

it could not have been,

that tinkling laugh was fake

and her voice did not belong to her.

What was this she was saying?

Why, oh why? He would only hurt more.

It's so cliche, she thought,

but oh, so true.

Their words of caution

of jealous warning

bounce off of us

off of our bubble of ignorance,

for we are the beautiful ones

and we may do as we please--

it is we who rule.

For the first time we realize that

yes indeed

the future really is ours

and we realize the gravity of choice

the burden of shame

but we do not care--

not yet, for we must dance in bliss

and in naivete for just a bit longer.

Maybe 

someday

when I am older

wisersmartertallerbiggerbetter

I may live.

But for now, I may be 

a shadow

a corpse without a soul.

I am too young for anything important

because the important things in life

cannot be entrusted to the silly past,

the past which we are trying to forget

so that we may convince ourselves 

that it never was.

That we were never who we were 

and the things

the things we said and did that we hate

never were

and so

when I am older

someday

maybe

I may grow up to take this life for myself

and become one of them.

Convulsing bodies

elegantly dance against the window

in the rain.

The dark crying for entrance

Every heartbeat leaps out of your chest,

yearning for freedom

because it is so enthralled

so impassioned

and the tinkling notes coming from above

playing on your soul

make you cry for some reason.

It is as though you heard them before

in a lullaby

in a nightmare

and they come back to remind you

and your painful nostalgia makes you weep

for something you want, yet fear--

enlightenment? 

A smile--

what's behind it?

Teeth, menacing

growling

curling lips housing a tongue--

which is really a sword,

if you know anything--

and trapping those words

which we are dying to say but

don't.

The eyebrow messages flying,

saying all those little things

which cannot be heard

but may be read from the face,

an open book.

Whispers too soft to be made out

floating in the air between us

between me

and your smile

say the unthinkable:

I love you.

An awful thing is to remember

Pain

a healing cut, the scar scraped off

Suffering

trials long gone, haunting anew

Fear

the monster of the past

Regret

always something we could have done

Yet

even worse

is to forget.

Satisfied,

the raven sings in its cage

for it does not know that it is in a cage.

The raven is ignorant

unenlightened

and nothing of the outside world

may permeate his bubble of unknowing.

If one were to ask the raven,

"Does not the morning sky

call you out to swoop and fly?"

he would cock his head and stare

in that questioning way when one

does not know the answer

but does not wish to make their ignorance known

for one does not miss what one has never seen.

One day one of these questioners

in a quest

a holy quest, a noble quest

to free the caged bird

opens the latch, the keeper of the raven,

and smiles, feeling satisfied.

The raven, the poor raven,

does not know what has happened,

and wishes at once for safety

from this dangerous unknown.

Yet there is no returning for 

the cage has been opened.

The bird flies away

into the wild

into fear

and is consumed by it.

To know that one day

there will be an end to thoughts 

such as these

is either terrifying--

so much so that I would rather

not think at all--

or a relief,

a welcome rest from the turmoil

and the grief that I give to myself

by thinking of emptiness.

Or perhaps it is both.

Constantly at internal war,

simultaneously embattled

and at peace.

I then retreat to my thoughts,

the cause of my pain,

for nurturing care

and inspiration,

a reason to go on.

And once again

the battle rages on.

A day

full of opportunity

full of laughing and friends

full of learning the new things

that are supposed to make you feel good

full of love.

Yet when I go home

alone, sitting in thought,

none of this matters

for my heart, behind walls of steel,

has not been touched

and it quickly grows cold again.

Nothing in this day

full of happiness and joy

matters anymore,

for the sadness waiting on the shoulder

to strike

has won until tomorrow.

The tingling sensation, so familiar,

overwhelms me again--

the feeling that if I say something,

anything,

I will pop this magnificent bubble

that we are in

and everything will spill out.

It is as though in this moment

I feel at peace with the world

and I can imagine that you,

standing in front of me,

when you are staring into my eyes,

are looking into my soul,

and understand.

But you open your mouth to tell me so--

and at once

it is gone.