Shadow Wound

I believe
I could navigate the treachery blindly;
My hands bound with barbed wire
behind my back;
I need the beauty in decay;
An illuminating darkness leading the way;
The subdivision of emotion at a molecular level;
Letting go of our father, whose deceitful reflection sells us what we cannot have;
The lack of impulse control…

This yearning to constantly destroy and rebuild;
An anxiety greater than any work of art could ever claim to be.
For the daily routine is a deceitful treason
And my shadow an open wound.

All I want is home.
I want
Is home.

With automatic emotional responses left behind;
Silvering with wings outstretched;
Becoming whole again.
Complete within incompleteness.

Chaos Of Whispers

If we’re honest
we scrape nothing but
scabbed over cores
of raw emotional intensity;
A lack of want.
A yearning for emptiness;
A murder of crows
that renders the sky
shallow and useless.
A cover of bloodstains.
A protective exoskeleton of bruises.
A pained smile.
Cracks in a ceiling.
Darkness that stretches eternally
as rays of black sunlight.
The muted voices of millions.
A reversed drowning of self.
The inverted torture of a smile.
The beauty of suffering
when all else is numbness.
When sense of self
is nothing more than an empty bed.

If we’re honest
our eyes roll back
into our heads
as soft dreams replace fear of death.

If we’re honest
the tears of children
drive us forward.

If we are honest
we know that the silence forms us
just as much as we form the silence.

Secrecy has a way of destroying us.


Breeze blowing
through tall meek trees.
Chlorinated and pollinated;
the devil’s beat creator.
Wish away the pain
and sing the blues to me.
One cliché too far
but not enough
for you.


God is an endless string of numbers.
The in-between details become the devil
with little to no effort.
I calculate repetitively;
in endless circular trails
which feed themselves into starvation
Lying perfectly still among the night’s stars
and burning myself out
into the depths of golden ratio

Serpent’s tail shit;
Over and over;
On repeat;
Circular perpetuity;
Et cetera.

Nothing but missing letters
and glorious exhaustion
lie within…

The Light That Blinds

The light flowed down from the sky
as silken waves
smashing into harsh landscapes.
I stood.
I stood and watched
the light’s metamorphosis into flakes of snow.
The light then held me as I waited for something more.
But as flakes of snow reached me
I realized they were ashes,
and the light changed.
No longer holding me.
Now holding me down.

Saturday Night

Tied up all my influences
And drowned them in the river.
Sealed off all the exits;
Tape over dry mouths.
Wet eyes and runny noses.
This is not a free ride.
We’ll all pay a price

And again.

Bleed Me a River

There is no pot of gold
At the end
Of this grayscale rainbow

Just another wasted day
Spent / Searching

Title Number Six

Gasping for emptiness.
Frail and bled.
Wounds as constant reminders
Of the true potential.
It’s all repetition
And lies;
Guilt by disassociation

God would be so proud.

Second Hand

Uninspired and cold
As blood tears roll
On a pale white cheek.
Led like a lamb
To the slaughter;
Reflective metal
Through taut flesh

You are not my god
And I will not sacrifice
For you.

No, Never

Frail and falling apart
To pieces of fragile porcelain.
Where do you draw the line
Between down and gone?
Concave vision of rabbit in headlights.
Light through a dirty window.
Repeat to fade.
Black nails and imploding skin.
Penmanship is not so good.
The elusive end is never near.