Naked in my imperfection
A world of blame in those judging eyes.
You weren't supposed to know.
Cast adrift on seas of melancholy
self-pitying waves tossing
my helpless craft
to and fro.
I brace myself for a flood of guilt
Once more and maybe
my burden will be avenged.
If I apologize one more time,
will you hold me in your arms
and smile
and never blame again?
You are incapable of love.
I.
I see pain
the elderly ones in child's bodies
reaching out for sustenance
from those who can give but don't.
I see pain.
II.
I hear agony.
Wails of a baby wanting
needing love
neglected for so long
and told to become something else.
I hear agony.
III.
I smell death.
Stagnant air filling my nostrils,
the bodies of the precious
must lay here.
But surely they may be ignored
one day longer.
I smell death.
IV.
I taste blood.
Cliched vampiric lust? No.
But the life of those I could not save
courses through me now.
Is it theirs or
is it mine?
I taste blood.
V.
I feel nothing.
Not anymore, for
is there a point to surprises
when you know what is to come?
Is there a point to building
when in the end all that is left
is a pile of nothing?
I feel nothing.
These petty words
bring to fruition
that which has hidden in my heart for ages.
Somehow the words flow uninhibited
as if they have really always been there
but have just now been realized.
A thousand inspirations take hold
and drag me windward into the sky,
if only for a moment,
and my soul takes flight
and I am free.
But...
the sinking brick--
reality--
has made its presence known
and without even a parachute
to gently guide me,
I plummet to the ground,
the birthplace of my death.
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.
