Dark Whispers

Shadows orating tales
Anxious anticipation
Ice milk along burning sand
Atmosphere thick hot heavy
Speeding technophonic rhythm
Red races flushing
Clutching stability against
Violent captivating trembles
Invading weakness
Ice fire life lightening
Dizzying spiral dance tilts
Phoenix burn

Infinity Flowers

Infinity flowers on. Cursed corpses of bees pollinate vast expanses of wasteland. New ash for bitter days. Harsh and tepid. An open mouth pours the viscous sangoire fount. Memories of golden years. Cool lethargy throws waves. Rivers congeal, ice with a vice grip. Sink slowly down. Twist, reveal, rent asunder. Hot stone cracks, crumbles, breaking away. Winter has come home with steel talons.

All Of It's Futile You Know

She would prepare everything. Or rather she had, at least mostly. Gathering the collective tools, random items more befitting a [medical examiner] [butcher] [mortician]; the stainless steel shimmered softly – with that soft wire scrub sheen so many medical trays cloned. Laying out the tarpaulin, and cocking her head softly to the side she found beauty in it. Clenching her jaw and blinking furiously to blot out the seas which burned with acid fire in her eyes, that’s the problem, she whispered; more to herself than to the man.

Or was he a boy?

She hadn’t decided.

She always found the beauty in everything. Even in her own wretched pain, the festering rot coiling within her soul – that lancing burn that sometimes blocked out EVERYTHING, even the ability to breathe… Sighing, like the earth after genocidal tidal waves vain efforts at a message no one wants to hear, she smoothed the last of the semi-translucent petrol. Head bent, her gaze was lost - seeing beyond the staccato tile floor - futile endeavors to salvage memories she felt she needed.

What she really needed was hope - but that was far beyond her now.

She turned her gaze back to the center of the room, the frigid cadaver table - stark and brutal even as it lacked quick edges or gothic décor. To the organism breathing, those shallow inhalations only the comatose or deeply drugged do. The conflagration smoldered her extremities, they twitched as though acid had pooled at the tips; aching itch – the need to touch.

No thoughts had formed or time had passed it seemed, INSTANTLY she was beside him; bent and leaning slightly over him and watching, the way hazmat crews observed CHERNOBYL or HIROSHIMA – with that morbid enthrallment engrossing every iota of their being. Lighting gently upon his clavicle, her forefinger hummed with the soft heat his body gave, tracing over the ridge the ice eased softly from that INTREPID digit. Oxygen optional, her breath froze as slowly she traced along the length of brachiating bone and curling, the way cars curve around long highways doubling back along themselves, up and along the throat, climbing the soft hill of the sternomastoid in soft ascension of the mandible and tracing downward. Ceding upon his lips, orbs lidded she breathed, crawling along the stillness that had consumed her. Pulling away so that her distals grazed his face, she stood.

He hadn’t moved, and in many respects appeared DEAD. But he was alive; she NEEDED him to be alive. Shoving the needle into the carotid, the thrum of his heart’s song traveling in gentle permeation through the metal and plastic of the hypodermic, sweeping upwards into the chilling phalanges – she paused. Pressing in bitter vehemence with prehensile, the serum vacated its holding cell; finding a new journey within that sanguine causeway.

Hoisting the weighted surgeon’s apron over her head, she admired the thick slickness of it; the matte black almost absorbing light, as though it were destined for this and was ready nigh eager to soak the claret sprays into itself. Turning to behold him, the char pigmented vinyl gloves slid across the steel tray, ushering a sadistic whisper into the silence this place had claimed. The fluttering of his lids told her he was waking, as did the change in his respiration. Sharp and swift, the inhalation devouring as much atmosphere as possible; awareness surged culminating in the rapid flick to open those soulful windows. Pulling those void gauntlets over her writhing digits, he saw her and remembrance and recognition blazed like stars in those windows. Grasping the hacksaw she sighed and looked at him directly, gazes locking.

You’re beautiful.

But that just isn’t enough.

Let Me Fall To Consumption

Her mouth crawls open, great fanged gateway to realms untraversed. Piercing softly flesh rich as musky sunshine, inhale to consume essence of another. I want to travel you like nomads crossing the Sahara inching over every molecule and atom. Ice craving flame, regardless risk of cessation of self. Planets colliding give birth to stars

heavens brighter in their destruction

I’d like to collide with you.

I’m staring again, in that espionage way I have always staring never caught, Cat’s are envious that. Only this time your orbs have me, and I’m drowning in those black pools willingly, for maybe death is a little bit of heaven itself and someone is talking to me that I am ignoring absently.

I want to capture ensnare catch you.

Hunting blindly again or rather with tunnel vision, solely absorbed within you. I’m passing worlds stars universes galaxies but nothings there I want. Always within view, silent torture all too enjoyable [in ways suicides must find death]. Negligently I am reaching for you and how my world falls away when reason crushes down and I spurn myself away,

dancing insanity empty and wanting.

I want to find you intimately absent, buried in your dreams, that I may come to watch you some scientist with new specimens make slow progress over you the way insects do the denizens at night in Africa. I want to bury my visage within your hollows, that sacred place where the strongest scent of self survives – rich with the blood humming so near to surface. I want to run my ivory along that tendon keeping you alert, supple cables strong and vulnerable.

Maybe I will lure you to my den and deftly place you within those blurry realms that I may have you the way I need you.

If only for one night.

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.

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….

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