Opheliac

Strumming waters, soft flowing in decadence – bejeweled in pussy willows, lily pads and whispering reeds. They sing a song if you listen, but it has been decades since the universe revolved around yourself.

Soft is the smile crawling across that porcelain façade, petal bright and supple. Wearily she traces the secrets of time across that liquid surface, reflective as a mirror, chill with winter’s lust. Darkened sable, as bottoms of crystal springs - that reflective sepia rich with surreptitiousness the earth murmurs on the wind. How bright the verdant foliage clutching the cool flow.

The light of that smile never reaches those sorrowful orbs, dulled darkened and burnished. Slothful that figure clambers into view, removing all hints of humor drearily resplendent upon that visage.

Narcissus didn’t fall in, he was pushed…

The ease of it hollowed her. Hours watching vanity embodied wasted. Worse, the sense of shallow futility, all remorsefully ineffective. Observing the dissolute departure of his profligate cadaver she wriggled her toes into the malleable earth.

Millennia elapsed and still her figure remained statuary in silence. Sluggishly rising, the coarse

rustlings of silk, dark emerald shimmering golden iridescence, susserated repartee to the mistral blustering amongst the reeds. Heavy the folds of cloth encompassing the fleshed frame, pulling in gravitational need. Plantar shuffling, sink shallowly forming minuscule mountains and valleys amidst cloying grasses.

Gently lapping along metatarsus submerging scarcely adjacent of flowing memory of snow,

rivulets coarse superior seducing porcelain into wintry depths. Vivacious consternation as physique plunges into that brumal mellifluousness. Mass consumption of ichorous stills inhalation. Upward tilt, leisurely absorbing roiling exterior. Pawn encompassed of currents marching to their heart.

Slow ascension, tumultuous tresses broadened in death’s halo.

If Ophelia drowns, and no one notices – is she really dead?

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.

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.