Arterial Life

If you were water flowering into wine I could flow through you like a butterfly; flitting over an endless ocean of rotting flowers, effusing their death unto the air like the songs of Sirens. Harpies crushing and rending, bitterly ravaging. The cadence a sweet-sour mourning song; the rending of flesh, the crushing of bone, the spurting gushes of arterial life sprayed into the sky and flowing from their necks - fountain of life.

Every night
You wrote another line
With a bloody, broken, bottle
And every day
You wish it away
Why don't you pull the pin
On that grenade
You cuddle

I wanted to believe
Bodies swinging from trees
Struggling to stand
With your head in your hands
A stoic last stand
Of a dying man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand...

Every night
The questions poured out
Of your wounded eyes
Damn dark things
Every day
You used to pray
Listen to the black raven sing
You wanted to believe
As you were falling to your knees
Struggling to stand
With your life in your hand
The sad last stand
Of a broken man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand...

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
I did not understand

And the questions poured out
And the questions pour out
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
The sound of you falling
I did not understand
As the trembling heart of a dying man
Did not understand
The sound of a trembling heart


I wonder why there is such stigma with suicide. Or with death in general. I often think about killing myself. And it's not that I am unhappy - because I am in fact Happy. I really like my life and who I am - and don't get me wrong it seems to be going on a bender hard and fast. However, above all things, I know who I am. And I don't worry. Something that seems to be swiftly maddening to those whom I choose to surround myself with. Especially my kittens.

I don't know. Sometimes it just seems that Death is the last Great Adventure I have waiting for me.
I am in Need of an adventure.
So desperately so that when I think of it I cannot breathe and my body is frozen in some silent prison, shaking with the need to explode violently into it.

Perhaps it's not my suicide that's bizarre. But the fact that when I picture it, I'm never caught. If I'm found at all. Sometimes I think I'll just wink out like a star, silent and lost among the thousands that capture your eyes. Overlooked or maybe misplaced and forgotten. And while I think I should feel sad at being forgotten, I rarely am. At worst I'm empty and at best I'm amused. But never sad. Never down.
Maybe it's because I believe that I will be here long after this body and earth has gone from existence. That I am me because I am the soul, the god I have spent so long looking for. I am the burning need that gets me through the bad days, and lifts me to flight on the good.
Empty because I don't need you.
Amused because I loved you and wanted you with me regardless of your concerns.

I don't need you. Any of you. And that should mean something great to you. Something wonderful and fantastic. Because you shouldn't need me either. Ferociously Independent. I want to be like the sea. Like the earth. Completely capable of severing you from myself at any and all costs.
So you will know how precious it is that
I Want You

Silence Is A Killer

His breath billows out, white clouds from the mouths of god, and in stillness she remains – like death within shadows praying for her heart’s sake he notices. All whisper and hush, silence dynamic, the air so cold her fingers burn and yet caught in his gaze there is nothing but the flame it stirs; phoenix tending to hearth flame, and she can’t wait to burn. His movements jagged, jaunt wolf rogue and lone trailing terrain foreign and ripe with disastrous possibilities. She leans in, unbidden and unable to refuse; only those dust winged nocturnals know of this as they rush into the flame, calling that way only vampires sing ripe humanity to their death.

If he can see the dark flame hidden betwixt the shadows they shall converge; violent passion as fire and water, rippling exploding energy –dangerous with allure that consumes with a totality gods wish they knew of– Caress the frigid, measured and toiling, leisurely with a languorous pace heady as love potions of men with morals of jinn in back allies of cities known for danger. Collision firm and supple, steel and leather tangled as string cat’s attack, obliterated with desire thick and spicy – mead a shade only blood knows.

Clasping mandible, dread wolf in a vice grip, fingers burning white hot where they press; dominate romance; encroaching along with distal phalanx, sweet in dawdling rate over labellum soft. Intake sharp in hesitance, as delicate the digit is rolled over incisor lengthy and scalpel sharp; lack of fear induces trembling at acceptance forever unknown. Saccharine and consuming, plummet into the moment -furious longing, smoldering necessity, overwhelming ache. That muzzle is burrowed deep inside the hollows of his rachen nipping, nuzzling, grazing; wandering in utter delicacy lest flesh be rent and life spilled.

Impacting cavitas oris split all boundaries leaving only the conflagration, vivid and alive and enveloping as unconsciousness – without escape. Exploration bursts violent red, fury of the unsatisfied. Desire to consume, intake, devour overshadowing logic and caution; tsunamis capable of utter annihilation crashing into one another, shattering reminiscent of stars.

Faltering he pulls away, unsure of the surge and its capacity to obliterate all else; wildly ensnaring her fingers encase his face jerking his vision to hers. Within her orbs all of her soul is lay bare, rapid gasp as the desire contained within is not just skin deep; she’d devour him with her soul and replace his with hers given the opportunity…

Her lids raise and the realization all of this perceivable only within her heart’s wish filled those spheres with oceans. Raising her muzzle to the sky she breathes deep, implanting bits of his soul within hers and flesh; memory of what she cannot have bearable if given the tools to dream with. As he turns his eyes catch hers and silently their gaze’s burn into each others, eons pass and worlds die as stars are born; and her soul blazes with the want to speak of her need for him –

…If only I could understand the words your soul whispers to me

Where Wolves Wander…

Thick ribbons swirl noxious and delirium resounding the heartfelt need. Entwining and burning with the heat of want, fine flowers blooming in open air where death itself finds fear. Mysteries purged, like vomit of the bulimics –But mama I just wanna be pretty– cruel the smile that decorates her lips, that sick upward twist leaving you bereft of hope and warmth

Satan prefers it chilly

In the noontime hours pass in seconds and the depth of things are thicker than you can stand, wading through concrete proves vast entertainment in moments where eternity spins wildly. Every detail a glaring neon sign to those with a physical aversion to all light – the glower noxious in a way bees or penicillin is to fools. Rush rush to those needles, sweetly awe striking in their twisted colors warning death and toxins. Delicate the supple flesh porcelain hued reaching languorously towards the thorn, some sleeping beauty out of context in a world where the prince has long since died – it would seem the joke is on her. And the laughter is so loud it’s quiet, like the rush of waves along the shore; maybe the ocean wants out?

Roll back, the eyes of a dead man, you mimic in some ironic twist – proof of life and also mockery of his current state; not your fault, you are not the man nor god who took what little life he had, in a said twist of fate he was wasting it anyway…

The birds hum loudly if you listen a moment, the sharp smack of their wings slicing the air like emo’s with razor blades who have no life left to give and no idea of what real pain might be. You watch them wondering if maybe they have the real idea nailed, get out quick before there is anything worth living for; the cold slap of your own death hits you. It’s coming and you can feel it in every breath you take, beat of your heart – but then it might not be so noticeable if death weren’t watching you from the doorway, waiting in that way of Cheshire cats.

If only he would smile

Maybe those skittering trembles crossing your flesh would cease, unlikely given his profession. Hell even the coldest heart finds warmth in something, no matter the iron casing and steel reserve; it is the ones who pretend not to notice who care the most, and you laugh and enjoy their company freely as they give it to you like those dancing with the wild wolves in forests – but if you took the moment to wholly understand what it is they are giving you, what all they have risked, maybe you would not be so careless with their hearts; for surely their soul is swiftly behind it.

Do not give me that look, souls are as easy to give as hearts; words of caution to those who so choose to release them, as many of these addle brained minions of soulless monetary fucking seek only satisfaction of the self ensure that the peril you are taking is worth the leap – even Geronimo could not take a redo in that leap.

Hearts heal Souls do not

Awakening in the forest in early dawn, the sky is that purple gray shade resplendent in newness, like the fawns of spring. Dew heavy on the grass reaching for the sun it feels crawling ever slow across the surface of the world –resembling the whispered passion of a lover as their breath and lips play delicately upon ripened flesh– reminiscent of shiny worlds, clear with a slate as new as any soul’s. Evaporation is sex only the elements understand, heat and desire tangible in ways humans yearn to be. Fuck romeo and juliet, I want to be water waiting for fire to ignite me; primal in a way only the gods understand, waiting as they do for their fifteen minutes of fame to be repeated–Mithras laughs in that silent joke only he and Dionysus share, while christians frown their disapproval.

I want to be silent in the ways vampires hear, that fleshy torrent wholly consuming and enveloping, that sweet divine scent and taste only those born of angel’s knowledge. Envy is an interest of its own when paired with indifference; a plaguing scoff of all they have been granted yet supreme curiosity would belie more than is apparent, and wearing Mona Lisa’s smile I sit silent, center of their attention entirely consumed and barren of their opinions of it.

Looking silently I peer over fields of ice and mountains built of thousands of millions of flakes as individual as a soul in the universe – I see those wookiee’s arguing with vulcans while smirking from the shadows in a veiled way so as not to attract attention – and that great whiteness blinds with all the fury of the cold burning hotter than black fire. You can see spanning those endless white fields the glass tower at the heart, rising like the babylonian tower; only instead of attempting to reach heaven it sits like a fat cat, satisfied in marring the skyline. In telescopes you can see the blood smeared a conglomerate range of brown-black-maroon where there was something trapped inside, and sick with the knowledge of ice approximating sharpness so severe it dulls razors you ponder what could have escaped from that hell -knowing full well the devil would scurry quicker than a bat out of hell given the sight of the thing- and in that mellow instance of insight what gives you pause is not what came out, but what could possibly have the force to imprison itself in such an abomination.

Quietly the warmth of life whispers upon your neck, caressing as a lover does in willing you to abandon that which frightens you. And grasping sweetly your face betwixt hands supple as lambskin and firm as steel you surrender – given the nature of the one holding yourself it may be a muzzle buried in your throat in the moment

You could always offer your soul in absolute submission.

I Miss The Moon

She ran hard and fast. Ran on through the grasses, thundering between trees and bursting through bushes in a fury of twigs and leaves. Her wolfskin was hard upon her and that itself made her heart ache, pained and weary with recent events. Foolish she had been, and yet was there ever a time when she was anything but a fool? The miles passed swiftly beneath her feet. Pounding through dead leaves, dank rich earth thick with the scent of vegetations decay; over rocks and pebbles crushing into brisk waters flowing with their angry torrents – grasping grabbing so eagerly for her. She wanted to let go and embrace its caress deep into its raging rocky depths, but the anger and pain burned high in her and she galloped on. Running into the night as though she could catch the moon, so close and still so far; nearly hiding in its new skin. She wanted to hate them, those silly things with their exemplar ideals; such farces and still so embraced. Naive sheep with their stories of how the hero defeats the boogieman, the big bad nasty thing.

They had come with their silver, ignorant and full of fear. Immunity was hers through chance and accident; and what a charade to think it might kill her, that maybe if she just let enough sink down into her it would work its toxic will and bind her to death. She howled the anguish. She envied them with their ignorance to believe that everything was better when you hunted down the monster; how can that be when you are the monster? And she ran ran until everything was burned away by the sheer need and will to run; ran until there was no more fear or rage or pain. She ran until forever passed beneath her feet.

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…

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….

Stolen Kiss

Wicked bell tinkling
Lethal water spray psychotic
Rouge kissed marble
Sunbursted puddles
Red velvet Virgin Mary tears
Twisted magma steams
Tainted sugar trail
Seductive dances death
Midnight bone lover
Will you steal a kiss?

Twisted Love

Red lance
Creates anguished song
Unseen behind
Trusted fiend
Dance closer the floor
Marble ice crushed
Cream flame child
Demon lover carresses clarity
Flinch flickers deadly
Through open windows
Pearl moon collides sun gold
Resistance spawns only
Darkness worse than death

Tormentor

Hollow haunted windows
Only evidence
Soul fire dying
Memories ache more than death
Crimson regret stains
Milk marble
Jagged silver fang
Deep diver of angelic abyss
Search you sanctuary
Secrets withheld
Riddle life solved puzzle
Within withering angel
Take advantage
Crush pale candle
Beacon the lost
Rape the mind
Murder the soul

Random Pieces 001

Hollow sick burnt
Alone fire died
To soon stars spent on
Empty promises


Sadistic tunes trample
Ideals of galaxies
Containing songs of hope and joy
Killed 'fore fledglings flew


Sorrow suffocates
Angel dancing deeply into
Despair violet black

Icy Slumber

Clear ice pours swiftly
Encircles metal tunnel to forever
Blocked with silver marble
Ice rises in personal porcelain pools
Curled white fabric flashes
Translucent floating in timeless
Eternity of liquid ice
Thick golden spider-silk strands
Dance forbiddingly in new home
Figure merges infinitely
With gentle ice caressing
Deep entrancing darkness
So close to forever
Light explodes

Today

Silent shadows sprang
The cat came out to play
No one saw the blackbird fly
When Johnny died today
Torn veins shuddered
The guard dog slept
Like death in the morning
Blue curtains were wings
On acrid air
And I dreamt through it all
Because I no longer care