The Tragedy Of Cats

Why is it some mammals just insist upon rubbing you down so as to grant you a good covering of their fur?

And out from some Greek Tragedy it is always the ones you find yourself allergic to.

I am sitting demurely, masticating the fur betwixt my toes and here SHE comes. Strutting as though SHE is the daughter of Bastet; some pampered elegant royal temple cat. Presence a lie, SHE’s all the class of an abandoned rotten academy; with more litters than toes upon HER paws. I swiftly veil my contempt – truly such trickery is mastered by cats alone. SHE attempts to do the same; a leech in a fur coat – it is in vein.

Deftly do I descend to meet HER eye to eye; characteristic of my eminence. HER lip curls, but SHE catches HERSELF and refrains from full snarl. Mine eyes have seen the game, and I am a better player – to say Master is being modest. Swiftly do I see all SHE has to offer, an estimation to be calculated and I have yet to underestimate the underhandedness of my opponent. SHE sidles up to me, hoping to feign obedience and compliance while smothering my scent with HERS marking dominance perhaps to illicit and provoke some rank response. HER face burrows beneath my chin and as SHE glides I bury my face into HER neck and let HER glide along to the tip of HER barely furred tail. SHE begins to saunter off and stops abruptly realizing that HER scent lies beneath mine.

The fury within HER eyes burns and smolders as HER fur alights to stand upon end. I sit lightly and await HER movement. A physical attack is dubious, yet not entirely out of the question; I am easily twice her size however, the supreme thickness of my coat dampers the judgment to my strength as well as hiding ancient battle scars.

SHE yowls as though a lit firecracker has been tied to HER tail. The attention of Lead Mouser has been caught and casually alert he saunters over. SHE caresses him, mewling woe betides as though mine ears are suddenly deaf and I cannot hear HER calls of betrayal and dictation, authoritarianism in the extreme. His gaze levels the room and all cats stop motion keening their heads in our direction. Decorously I stop cleaning my paw before dethroning him with a Hiroshima glare.

Now this is getting interesting…

Do I Have To Tell The Story Of A Thousand Rainy Days Since We First Met…

I am running. The acid rushes through my veins, I’m sure there’s blood there still. Maybe. I’m running from you – or at you – I’ve been running so long it’s hard to remember.

Initially it was at you. To be with you. Every kind word a blessing in disguise. The longing rises within, a cruel kundalini –its serpent smile just as misleading. But you are such a sweet fruit I cannot help but long for more. Crisp. Sugary. Red Delicious. E’er within reach and just out of grasp. Temptation never looked so good.

And in an instant, the realization that I’m clinging to a memory. Or a dream. Stumbling I look up as I’m struck with the validity of the never ending quest.

Are you real or venomous mirage?

I need you. I’m sobbing before I comprehend. You are here, all around me. But I need something more. And I am ashamed.

I was whole once. Complete. Absolute. Entire. The only thing craved was more time with you. Every iota of time so precious seconds to years in a minds eye and details with voracious vividity. The scent of you is strong, long after you’ve gone away. Deep. Rich. – Life itself.

The crueler part of it all is that you never left.

Always there. Never the way before.

A hundred questions cross my mind before I can bare a whisper. Fate would be kind to remove the burden, but the weight of it is ever suppressing. I’ve analyzed it all. Beaten the long dead horse to life and death time and time again. Over analyze a gross understatement. How can you stop watching as the needle is shoved through the eye? You’ve seen it hundreds of times and always with chills, but like some authors demonic tease you can’t put down, you cannot look away; nor prevent the replay.

Maybe you don’t have to die to go to hell –

You don’t realize how lonely all of it is until you’ve been complete. Somehow it’s not all it’s cracked up to be and how do you function now running on E? find me the man who quoth “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” That I may smite him with his love. Fools are ever poetic.

I remember the before time. Sad to think I miss it. Ignorance may just actually be bliss. But you can betray what you’ve known to go back to it? Let me know because I just can’t seem to find a way. And if you can could you face the guilt of going back? Given the choice to do it all over again – would you?

For what it’s worth, I miss it. Perhaps more so than the feeling of a soul’s completion. For as decadent as it was, in the before time I was invincible. Lost far beyond the barren lands; cracked and gray, and e’er cloudy – lost in the turmoil of self depreciation. Climbing to the snow, past breathtaking mountains, into cruel valleys where no warmth came and all life extinguished. A perfect wintery landscape; as harsh, hard and unforgiving as is ever been in existence. Perhaps colder than the glare of the truly heartless. And far into the center an ice palace, all harsh line and jagged razor edges; malicious mimicry en large of the daintiest of snowflakes. In the tower, high into the lifeless air, the blood of the captive who became free…

To what ends?

Winter has come and with it always the memory now of the before time. Who can say where all this may end. For so rarely do great things seem peril less.

The memory of you is half the problem. You are always here and never there. In vein I wish for you when my soul aches from the cavernous cold sweeping in from the Universe.

Always in vein do I wish.

Always do I wish.

A Girl Can Dream

I’m choking down those ashes again. Maybe I wouldn’t be so eager to shovel mounds into my serrated gob if only I could remember the taste of something else. I know I am missing something and it’s so close I can feel the weight of it crushing down upon me. I cram another handful and suck it down.

If you could crawl inside the windows, past the blue glass and peer down further into the ebon depths hidden, fold of a world. Press yourself against those frightening crags and move further down. Coming out of the darkness the light would blind and illuminate with such coldness that frigid still and smothered hangs the air. Wander down any path and the evidence of decay is heavy and thick. Remnants of a long forgotten glory smite the shite stained surface. This place has been dying for so long it doesn’t remember what life was. Hope is the white horse dying in the open court, eight shades of diseased emerald. The blood, however, is bright. Death imminent vivid in a washed out existence.

You could storm the creature without so much as a flinch. The eyes are dull and sticky, flecked with black dirt. Mayhaps death has already come and gone, but the rattling breath and consistent gush of blood communicate what is left of life in this being. Maybe it doesn’t know how to become dead, thus imprisoned in an endless state of dying. That could be one of your childish notions, easily waved away by the harsh stamp of adulthood, if only the horror of it was not so palpable. And as it consumes you, the realization that the entire world has been in this state long enough to see old gods overthrown while new ones were erected hits you like the moon crashing into earth. The vomit is hot and sticky on the back of your hands before you comprehend what has happened.

Your breath ragged the arctic air harsh in the back of your throat and you keep sucking it down – waiting for your heart to cease its frantic pounding, your head to cease its dizzy spinning, your eyes to blink back into focus. As this happens you feel it, the dread sensation of foreign eyes intense upon you, crawling – prickly sticky, like roaches – your stomach entangled and stone, your eyes follow the invisible path back to the voyeur. The white horse is watching you with those lifeless fish eyes and the echo startles you into actuality before your body has time to tell your mind that you’ve finished screaming. The world is blurring past you before you comprehend you are running, you gulp harder at the air willing your lungs to fill to bursting so you can run. Run run RUN RUN RUN RUN. The word is every breath, thought, sensation of movement, gush of blood from your heart; your body is screaming it so loud you’ve lost the feeling of movement and all you see is a world smearing past you faster and faster.

The pain is neon red, lancing through your arms and head. Panting rigid and callous, you are coughing before you notice you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe. You gulp down the air between sobs; sweet, cool and laden with soft hints of life collapsing to the ground you revel in the texture of the grass – the supple warmth and tangy scent as your weight crushes it. You stumble home; grateful for the mild chill the breeze conjures, eliciting goose bumps upon your flesh. Climbing the steps you’ve almost forgotten what you just witnessed, as you shut the door that eerie dread fills you; at the time it was so insignificant you had overlooked it, but now it is staring you down. That place held no sound; even the rattle of Hope was silent, only noticed in the series of bubbles in the bloody froth.

Your stomach churns but you try to disregard as you twist the knob and water rages downward sending a cloud of steam into your face, the adjustment and stripping are done in a haze. One foot follows the other into the glorious cascade that’s easing a chill out of your soul you didn’t conceive being there, and tragedy strikes as you’ve closed the glass door and managed to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It wouldn’t be so bad, if the blood staining your life toned flesh wasn’t a horribly perfect color match for the blood of the dying equine fit to match the dying world you abandoned for dead. The vomit sprays the doors and walls, retching between sobs you fight to forget, to leave the dead world behind, like some twisted childhood nightmare re-envisioned for one last haunt. Still hunched over dry heaving long after the saccharine hot water swept away the remnants of vomit and blood, you cling to the warmth of the liquid careening down your spine.

The light of midday brightens the room and you breathe deep, the air thick and heavy with early afternoon; and as your foot graces the floor you feel the wooden fiber of it, rich and earthen beneath you as your body moves from the bed to the window. As beautiful as this new world seems, the wind even seems to carry a soft lilting note – sorrow pressing hard on your mind and a memory you wish to forget. Shuffling back to bed you surrender once more to the glorious amnesia Hypnos grants; mayhap days pass and in vein the sense, as the clock betrays mere minutes. Peering up at the ceiling you fight between forgetting and scheming, torn betwixt the sense of guarding one you care for or of self preservation.

Waking to a new day, the weight upon your heart has somehow lessened, and the guilt racks you into a harsh sob; preparing for the task at hand while blinded by responsibility is swiftly done. Calming breath to steady yourself at the window overlooking that bright world you can see with such voracity, a vein attempt to preserve the sense of innocence. A sensation familiar crawls upon your skin and you look down to the sidewalk beyond and into the eyes of dull blue glass and the tears well softly in the corner, betraying you and your decision. You cannot save her, you wouldn’t know how - but if you remain friends the fact of this would drive you mad; abandon is written on your face as plainly as E PLURIBUS UNUM on the currency, full of sorrow your frown twists into that smile all the gods of pain and loss bear. As you bring up your gaze to meet her face, her piercing stare, your eyes convey “I cannot save you and I cannot stay” and this alone is awful, but the pain is sharpened by her soft smile and the ease of her body language as hers convey “I know. And I forgive you.”

Turning your back you slide to the floor and let the world fade away into the blurring tears and the wracking sobs.

I might notice I was crying if I could feel it and if I was accustomed to seeing where I went. I lived in your world once. I know this, but I cannot remember. Sometimes I think about it, but all reminiscence brings is pain. I feel the chill coming and sight relief.

Might not be death, but a girl can dream…

Labyrinth

Sometimes the days seem to stretch on forever. I think I remember times that were better – but do I? As my soul collapses inward I ponder ever seeing a brighter side. Of course the grass looks greener on the other side. I might remember what it tasted like if only I could halt the frantic consumption of ash. While it’s heavier, somehow I think it’s just not filling that void there.

How long can you lie before that lie becomes truth? I’m gagging on those ashes again, but it’ll wash down with another handful. If mirrors are gateways, what’s there for you if all you see is nothing? I crawled inside the other day, only to find decay. And the comfort that the frigid brings. The tightening ache in my chest clutches harder each passing day – I might say it’s my heart breaking if I hadn’t forgotten what that meant long ago – and I fight to breathe through it. What happens when I’m too tired for it?

When I started at the beginning of this I knew where I was going… Plush labyrinth turned harsh maze.

was that the Minotaur?

I’ve run out of options and now I can’t’ help but run on. Before I can realize I have fallen down I’m up and running again. I’m chocking and coughing in a strange fit as water blurs my vision is this what crying’s like? but the drive is strong as I stumble onward. Drive rooted so deep I don’t even think to question, just moving.

Motion! Is that the answer?

The pounding of my footsteps is my only memory.

What am I running from?

A thought so quick I’ve lost it before I can conceive its idea.

There was a destination once I think and I try to awaken myself to it. The flooding sensation only causes my vision to lapse into bright colors and vague shapes. Movement is default. The acid, what was once blood, in my veins burns and stimulates kinesis. Prone to it, I can’t remember sleeping, only myriads of dead ends and paths traveled. As my eyes come into focus I see the path laid out before me. Comfort in continual motion, pushed forward.

That sound again; strange and scratchy, yet constant as my pace, shuffles. Thick and lush, no option available and backward is the way forward. Passing a path long since traveled, a figure glimpsed. Insignificant to the drive. The need to finish this. To find the end. If only she could remember the reasoning for starting to begin with was the figure she’s running from.

Sensation of time passing is an eerie one, but it crawls along my spine familiar as the pace I’m keeping ever onward in vein and the scratching shuffle that surrounds. Long since the elusive figure which haunts the hallows of this place as surely as I do. Pangs of something wrench as the silhouette slides across the paths of my thoughts and the drive is harder as is the ache crushing down.

The world is bright where the black reigned moments ago. Harsh the drag of air inward, wracked in torment. The slow stumble upward widens the scene, brightly scarlet thickly slick, pouring freshly from some gaping wound in this skull. Trembling and ungainly I surge forward.

What does it matter if I die here? There is only the answer. That strange secret at the end of this is my salvation or undoing and I must press on. I am not I. all that’s left is this shell

I’ve passed another dead end. I am lost and I just keeping running farther into it. Helpless to the need of something I cannot remember. And the dream of it is the drive, the hope behind the dream giving endless endurance.

And in the end all I will have achieved is the desolation of this that was once my soul.

I am at ease.

secretly she died long ago

murdered my her reason

You Had Your Night In Shining Armor, I Had My Monster Under The Bed

What is it about the monsters that makes me [us??] cry for them. When I see a movie I do not plaudit for the dragon slayer, but the dragon. It is not the hero I want to see at the end – covered in blood and gore from a job well done – but the werewolf. It is not the slayer I hold my breath for, it’s Dracula.

I was nine when I had my first crush. He was tall, dark and handsome. He was Dracula in the ’92 version of Bram Stoker’s. Seeing him left me breathless and at the end my heart truly ached at his peril. I connected more with the monster than any other character.

Still evident today in which characters I love from even the most mundane of shows. House and Cartman –who you only love because you hate– I love for very different reasons. I want to BE them. In ancient times I would kill them and consume their flesh to invoke their attributes within myself. They’re an addiction—strange, bizarre and fascinating. Like the two-headed cow you can’t help but stare at. Only, where the masses generally find themselves a little sickened and/or horrified, I can only proclaim desire and interest.

I would merrily frolic into the night of Stephen King’s werewolves and gladly plunge into the maw of the maddened creature if only for that brief encounter. Most would urinate in fear, with confusion I believe my reaction to be far different.

LUST

The breath that the masses hold in fear for being found, I find myself bursting with anticipation. Secretly counting the seconds until the cold claws tightly grasp my arms and shoulders before plunging into ferocity. The toxic giddy-up causing your heart to burst full of adrenaline at the need-to-flee fills mine with wanton desire.

Perhaps this has filtered thoroughly into every fiber of my being; because I find myself carrying a great disdain for the masses. Not all of the normals, just a majority. Secretly I’m combing through them to find the dark star shining within.

I rage harshly and fiercely and love just as passionately. I want that in return. The monsters have it. We are kin and I am wanting to be ravaged. I want to combust beneath you. “Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.”

The trick to monsters is you have to be as eager to consume them as they are to consume you.

I am ready.

And I am hungry.

Come out, come out, wherever you are…

clapping; bravo, hallelujah, hosanna; acclaim, accolade, citation, commendation, compliment, encomium, eulogy, homage, paean, panegyric, salutation, tribute

acclamation, cheering, cheers, ovation, plaudit(s), rave(s)

Some Secret Sin Crept Upon My Lips And Unwittingly I Uttered The Utterly Reprehensible…

I raged silent against a violent world. All of it sticky remorse and translucent pain. So unsure and yet secure and well aware. My heart picks up a notch. The slightly unnoticeable flush betraying the giddy up of a rhythmic enthused muscle. A light in the eyes evinces and undermines the rest. Marbled body- cold, unyielding steel mimicry. Vampiric ancient a statued self but somewhere within blood rushes. Hot pooled seduction rushing through cable systems working a little too efficiently.

You only smile at them. I’m screaming – quiet, quiet, shh – and the silence of it fills volumes. A polite grimace is all I’m bequeathed but I snatch. Child of Ethiopia with a steak. The slightest hint of recognition and nuclear reaction causes this cold star to burn hot. Chameleon black to vivid red.

Burn with a yearning futile as a child building a tower to heaven. Tears like acid carve hot trails along marble — canyons in wake. I’m only breathing to see if you notice. Curious. Hurt. Wanting. Hating, loathing, impeaching every notion. I see you look at them, watch them, converse with them, touch them, smell them. Green eyes veiled, still as prey. Angst climbs tendons like electric charging batteries. Frozen in the instant–beg for an ending far away as Armageddon. I’m lost in my own iron tranquility and my silver tongue slit my throat long ago. Soft sighs mock the cries I make that cannot escape my python throat.

Velvet lashes flick liquid diamonds swiftly from traitorous doorways. Hard to breath in the vice grip of self control but I’ve learned naught else. I’m bursting expanding rushing racing to fill all directions. Thundering madness out and away, anywhere but here. I can’t bear to move –to leave–

Silent fingers grip like springs wound tight, steel twisted–clenching vicious. Clutch it, huddle closer. Pain swirls and encircles and strangles that bastard that keeps beating after long requited silence.

How do you fix what you can’t change. I regret not being what you want. I regret not being what you need. I regret being here. I regret – being. And I huddle in awe and fear, pain is sweet lust and I let it linger while your near. You’re palpable as I ache starvation.

I stumble unable to convey the idea so simple its infinitely complex. Light candles to your memory even as I make plans to see you on the marrow. Plans you’ll never know about because you’ll never notice me beyond the passing glance. A gift I’ll cherish even as you regret descending your gaze upon me. Odd scents promulgate the burning flesh as I caress the flame lost in imagery vivid with you. Red poppy among the sea of clover. I’m [grasping, grabbing, rushing] for the safety while eagerly falling into your desire.

A rush to open that red door only to find the light within marks the emptiness of time and space without some semblance of you. Violent angry rush boldly streaks black upon it. Bury the desire– a betrayal of myself.

I will never have you because I can never be what you desire and I’ve nothing left. How stranglely hollow filled with your emptiness. Awe struck and breathless.

Wishing an eternity of this.

We Had A Torrid Love Affair, Until His Dreams Of Death Silenced It

Along the shores and past the sea, the girl lies amongst the rocks. Not jagged, the black shreds of volcanoes long since gone – receded into the earths memory.

Adorned in softest rags of deepest darkness and stray strands of seaweed, wet and heavy she lay unmoving. Bedecked by sand and guarded closely by overeager crustaceans, the smooth alabaster belied the secret her body hid.

Dark and angry waves of the sea, green-black with envy, continued reaching in vein. As one who searches for some long lost items within. The sky, bewitched, held darkest clouds yet still the world was bright – as on a merely overcast day.

The vivid green of the forest further up the beach was muted. And unholy silence hushed the surrounding space. The birds that flew were silent as death’s harbingers, and the sea itself hushed.

Then she opened her eyes…

I Was Happy To Be Hollow, Yet You Wanted To Fill The Void, And Now I’m Bursting With Death

Some sympathetic ear taunted me with vicious dreams of capricious pagans. Wholesale slaughter at private prices, and someday I’ll be just another whore. Maybe then you’d want me. And I smile; feigning delight, because what you want is a star and unfortunately all I can be is a phoenix. How quickly all the color in your world has faded. Scantily clad in red I try to hide, ruby amongst ashes. My tears tread black along pale faces, a porcelain lie.

And you sit silently amongst flames, frigid by the open window that smothers the fire. Inhalation of ice is lancing red and I can’t help but breathe you in. Thick in my lungs I want to keep you here. But destined to leave; you smile and reassure me that you’re my shadow. By my side always. Moon brilliant, I’ve lost myself – but who was I to begin with, not anyone I cared to know.

Slowly the blood crimson of the bismuth oxychloride smears delicately along the labium inferius. A decadent doorway into the abyss. Still I stare with vacant, oculus hollow.

Sometimes I think my heart would shatter to be found. I’ve lost it and see no need to find it. A white queen within an endless realm of snow and bitter cold. Alone and unyielding; Caesar had friends – it’s all to easy to see where it got him. Harsh and bitter, I am the north seas. Chill with the omen of death. But the crueler the mistress, the greater the bounty. Perhaps there is some treasure at the end of this bleak gray rainbow….

Some Silent Cat Whispered Sweet Nothings In My Ear Then Abandoned Me At The Altar

Some intrepid sin forgotten by a long abandoned god crept upon me whilst unawake I lie. Cushioned in clover and lost in blissful dreams of chaos. Suffocating blankets of NAG CHAMPA curled around, hugging the warmth by a still beating heart locked within.

and in the shadows, cloaked in observance death still solid perched the audacious shadow. gingerly tiptoed dainty delicate cat stealth, creeping e'er closer.

gentle as the morning dew

curled atop the muscled rhythm

one beat, two beat, a tango within the veins. and nine lives of fur void black and satin soft stooped to whisper in my ear.

in vein i lie there still

You Can’t Spell Slaughter Without Laughter

I don't know what I’ve done wrong. these days in vein searching every detail how wide the fine tooth comb

muddled mishaps scream while indecisions beg lulling false pretensions into hysteria

and every attempted scream merely issues forth sycophantic gushes of glee. a lying smile. this sweet façade. beyond the back door the girl is dying cold in the warm summer sun

in this crowd I am alone

this boy he smiles and holds me gently. and carefully he wraps me within tight ropes and my naïveté shines softly as i docile lie.

crucified in silence, not a whisper. and how carefully the unwrapping. the ropes serve again hoisted some sick carnival ride, afraid I’m the late addition

sweet silhouette upon the hill. a golden ticket lost, and i have watched all along to beg the question

can martyrs be void within?

smile. the jackal found it disconcerting when instead of laughter ink issued forth. far cry to the blackness of beyond lying in wait just within.

Silent Observation

Twist fire, how bright burn empty stars.

I suffocate in this fluorescent machine.

This amalgamation of violent peace.

Ravaged and secure I sit sidelined.

Placid and dormant,

A sycophantic observer of my homicide.

Lethargically dreaming, this void overflows;

Corrupting and wicked.

Burrow deeper; morbid curiosity creeps.

Rotting carcass licking life, expulsion from flesh.

Apathetic watcher of my own evisceration.

I huddle, clinging to this

Grand mastication of the soul.

This all consuming horde.

These devils with white wings, saviors of damnation.

Can You Feel Me Dying?

Perhaps it’s the Rains; but I feel Ancient.

weathered.

worn.

The sunlight is distilled here. -- washed tainted muted pastel -- Devoid of warmth, the bright spots are chilling as the first frost.

I am Tired. Exhausted.

understatement of the year

Driftwood.

Mayhaps vanity, the sick clock ticks somewhere deep inside. Evidence of existence in solitaire. Alone. Unwanted. Washed.
This bright day is cold
And I'm left Alone
Pondering. . .

To Whom It May Concern;
The Hours have grown long
Razor and I had a conversation
On heartache and time
Seems he fancies a fellow
Astride a white horse
Elusive
My confessions flow ice cold from devil's lips
Shadowed whispers
In hallowed halls
Maybe I'll marry him

suicide

We could live together

beneath the hard packed earth

Forever
Razor sighed to hear it
A proposal to the end of our torrid love affair
Who would notice?
Who would care?

The silence held no answer

Mist

Did you lie when god slept on Thursday?
Or was it the Saturday before?
Sometimes I wonder if you mean it.
Are you acting?
See this mask?
I found it.
Who dropped it?
By the way, I found your dagger...
In the interspatial of the fifth and sixth
Along my spine.

I walked along the rainy sidewalk.
The Cemetery sighed
I found myself on the muddied ground
Red rain burned my eye.
A lie, the blood upon the tomb stones is myne

The fog is harsh and thick
I
Can't
See
Is it rain or wet snow?

I keep clenching furiously
Sticky clothes
I hate the wet tack
And where are you!?!
You said you'd always be there for me
But you're not

Working For Emptiness

Life is quickly losing its brilliance. Chaos ensues day after day. Myriad of indecision.

I'm working all the time.

I'm droning. Worker bee.

I've nothing to show for it. I want to do things that I cannot because I do not have the money. Working for emptiness. Not piercing. Cannot find a master for it. Apprentice deficiency incomprehensible.

Have you paid the piper?

Stiff Lies because I starched the collar. So sorry to disturb.

Can't you let me run away??

Cat had nine lives all that's left is a bucket of lies. Pale in comparison to the moon. Demons shine in shadows of angels. Never made me laugh without wry smile...
You whispered things you did not mean.
I'm tired of trying.
Pardon me is this the way to hell?
I see the pavement

How sparkly new are your Good Intentions

Wicked Wicked Wicked

Ding Dong the Witch is DEAD

Work work work
Run Away! Run Away!

Are you using me?
Have you had your fill today?
There's something left. Although it's somewhat damaged. I think you could find some use.

Half price?

Worthless stars hide in shadows

Demons fear

Can you hear me now?

Pardon The Way That I Stare

The boy is sitting there. The girl sits there too. But the boy does not see the girl; he is too concerned with the future. Tomorrow’s tomorrow’s tomorrow.

THERE IS NO TOMORROW FOR THE GIRL.

Gollum hollow, filled to bursting with that achy emptiness – thick and suffocating, self replicating cotton pushing at the seams. She’s memorizing every inch of him [the way vampires do veins – softly humming highways of life]. She could crawl millions of miles across his flesh and never be finished. Some glorious puzzle box she’s too terrified to touch.

CAUTION: FRAGILE

That conflagration blazing in her distal digits caused violent seizing, swiftly hidden beneath idle limbs.

How long would this
[THIRST NECESSITY CRAVING WANT HUNGER YEARNING NEED]
go unrequited?
How much longer could she bear it?

Implosion on the horizon, she inhaled deeply – vain endeavor to impart the effortlessly achievable portion of him within her. Mournful, the howl rolling up her throat - swiftly stifled, eruption no more than a whimper.

Whether politely ignored or blatant indifference, lack of acknowledgment proved damaging. Obvious inadequacy spurned her to motion. She could no more tell if he loved her than if he hated her; worse was the utter lack of paths to convey her intentions.

But she could RUN.

Rising like the night she flowed into kinetics, pounding flesh to earth until the night had evaporated and acid seared her veins.

Phantasm

Are you happy? What do you want out of life?

A picturesque dream. Swoon lively my sweet. We dance FIERCE FIESTY jumping at flames. Heaven’s a bubble the tin soldier on street corner X popped.

Bing.

Flash lightening and wild. Tipsy topsy turvey BOUNCE BOUNCE BINGO. Sometimes I bubble up; surface all distended.

Hiphopscotch.

Do you dream? Monochromatic dreary drama. Honeysweet sugarcakes.

Possibly once, down stream, many shiny colored bubbles hatched tiny gerbils.

And YOU, music lover, you’re next.

Cacophony chuckles rapt apparent.
Post-consumer waste. Whiskey hickey struggled swift. Maybe never next bluebirds birth pancake berries. Honey hollow ducks. Silver peacocks twist dainty. Some mushrooms say blood on Tuesday’s fares well with flesh.

Harbinger lost, softly swill red river frost.

Folklorist

Sometimes I think life must be square. Random anemic events. Dwindling dancers pinched in the moonlight. Tiny tiny bubbles. Some sunbeams feel restricted. Locked in boxes with no light.
I find them glittering like fireflies.