I Wonder

I wonder
How it's going to be, when you don't know me
How's it going to be, when you're sure I'm not there?
How's it going to be, when there is no one there to talk to
Between you and me?
'Cause I don't care
How's it going to be?

I wonder
How's it going to be, when it goes down?
How's it going to be, when you're not around?
How's it going to be, when you find out there was nothing
Between you and me?
'Cause I don't care
How's it going to be



I am finding that who I am now, who I am capable of being at any given moment is a vastly capricious thing.
I feel left out or unjustified in these changes. There is a great sense of unrest. And also one of insecurity. And a sense of resentment that lingers in the air for far too long. I want to take you with me, but I realize that maybe if I do love you now is the time to let you go.
I am categorizing myself, and as awful as that sounds it really isn’t. It’s merely a way of breaking myself down so that I may fully understand and come to grasp all the fundamentals, variations and analogous parts that make the cognitive whole. As much as I desire to take all of you with me I understand, somewhat regretfully, that that is simply not an option. So I am doing the only thing I know in this situation.

I’m letting you go.

----------------------------------------------------

Blessed are they with a cherry smile
Who stopped by to chat a while…
Blessed are they that make it known
That I am loved and not alone
- Grace McDonald

The Lies You Uttered Still Whisper In The Trees

And the melodies spilling through my veins, myriads of symphonies time had yet to tell. Shining silver etchings, iridescent upon the milk pale surface. Myths and legends, warnings and prostrations of tales no poet had heart enough to breathe into words. Such sorrow, such agony; sweeter due the bitter. Vibrant and rich.

The lies you uttered still whisper in the trees, haunting me with all the blessings life has stolen. Everywhere and in everything they speak of a youth filled with love. Here am I, jaded in silk shadows. Grey blue, with tumultuous oceans for sight. Pallid and glowing amidst the shade, flowing darkness sparked to background sound; rumors you can’t quite catch but yearn so desperately to gorge upon.

Slip in. Slip out. Slide silent along the worn path, narrow and jagged, flitting just along the perimeter. A flash of pooled moonlight, anthropomorphic; breathtaking. Beauty a poor man’s lure, the mystery here is deeper. Torrid. Some Sidhe slithering, beguiling your indulgences. And if you have the courage, if you have the strength; the rewards ever outweigh the risk.

Violent and cruel, exactly what you’ve been warned away from. Yet the chance is thrilling, trilling the soul swimming along your highways; seeping into the furthest mundane edges of suburbia exposed. Nursed inward to your most audaciously brazen self and murmuring ever gently, things you never thought you would hear. Things you cannot quite comprehend. Things you cannot live without. Things you need. And all it takes is that one chance. But it’s all or nothing. The creation. The destruction. In the end the question is simple. Searing. Revolutionary.

How much of your soul are you willing to lose?

Some Summer Winds

Some summer winds
Have whispered saccharine promises
Sweetly ladened with their buried treasures
Alone the loon echoes weeping willows
Beneath strained sunsets
The sky stretched onward
Surging to envelop
The tender loves it cherished
Glittering brightly
In that fluid intensity
How they quiver
Graciously overwhelmed
By this display of intent

Ripe Forbiddance

Sweet melancholy, rich plum; ripe forbiddance. How sweet, I taste the tongues of a thousand years - whispers as gentle as lovers touching - honeyed and rich, thick saccharine. The clarity of an endless sea of words, as oppressive as it is freeing.

Warm Dreams

Sink lover
Sink down
Where breezes bring warm dreams
Thoughts
Sense memory
I feel you
I fill you
Wasting
We're wasting this
We're wasting away
All the things I want
I push away.

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

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.

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)

Shimmer

Shimmer soft in deep recesses
Of ebon velvet darkness
Glow darkly
Dim star among shadows
This pale candle
Calls home diamond winged
Lover of the night
Commanding wish
Shall I burn for you brighter?
Beacon from home

Lust

Sick sycophantic passion burning
Supernova between the silver satin
Cool quicksilver
Wrapped around fire sprites
Drink lust thick like cream
Honey rich ice
Neurotic electricity sings
Snow white down
Central vertebral structure
Symphonic solar explosion
Love is hot whispers
Lust is hotter reality