Poetry

Poem: White Noise

White Noise

The cat tied to my tongue, now he plays a silent tune
of sorrow and regret, no money, none coming anytime soon.
I’m slamming into walls that I, myself, have built.
I grabbed the sharpened blade when aiming for the hilt.

White noise between my ears, a pen without a pulse
nothing sounds like me at all; the scribbles of impulse.
Perhaps this isn’t me, perhaps these words are true
refusing to spill out, the self-imprisoned muse.

Surprise, surprise, he’s gone, my one and only friend.
A cursed, punished tongue, keeps silent til the end.
Perhaps it is because the ground quivers as I walk
Or maybe it is the way my face gives way to gawk.

I’m not old, I’m only twenty-one
But all these thoughts that steal my bed til up comes the sun
they push and pull me every which way but never force a movement
Not a twitch, not a wiggle, not a step towards improvement

Poetry

Poem: Blackest Night

Blackest Night

The Blackest Night Beckons.
It enslaves my every fiber with the chains of solitude
and pulls me into a vortex.

The air is stagnant; polluted.
Molecules of thought float above my head
expanding into the surroundings.
Cognitions slam against the mirrors
then reflect with a mighty bound through my eyes
into every axon on every neuron of the body.
I am an entity composed of electrical signals.
Electrical signals that sometimes hurt.
In Blackest Night they claim a power to keep me floored.
Existence, in this moment, is a joke
because of these electrical signals
whose patterns erupt at 800 pulses a second into a collision with my well being.

Existence, in this moment, is a joke.
The Blackest Night Beckons.

Poetry

Poem: Sleep Paralysis

Sleep Paralysis

Greek bodies,
The marble pales in comparison
I think I’m awake
Auditory hallucination
Chirping buzzing white noise
I long to be a child
I long to sink in my bed
Fall through the earth, birth me bloody
I pray for my own sake
I once thought my keyboard was played
by dancing children while I slept paralyzed

Speak into my mouth, listen to my ears
pulsating colors and buzzing white noise
Auditory hallucination
There’s is no cool side on my pillow
the grooves of my fingerprints are being filled
by beautiful bundles of silk
I’ve felt I controlled it
I once thought my keyboard was played
by dancing children while I slept paralyzed

Poetry

Poem: The Core

The Core

It’s cold
Maybe it’s just me
I’m here, not here
A tunnel of memories
Detaches me from them
I’m not like them
I’m a freak
I only walk
I only breathe
I only eat
But I speak, only softly, whispers that are lost in existence
But I feel, only gently, reaching out towards the gravel
The cold gravel, Black; demeaning, humbling,
The cold gravel, fingers crushed between rugged stone, the crunching of bones
Breaking Breaking Breaking; bones breaking
The Cracking echoes violently pounding the ear drums
A reminder that I’m not good enough
The sun does not rise if it peeks out to the view of my crippled self
I need a hole
A damp dirty distant detached hole
Deep in the earth
So I can crawl on my bleeding knees, to the earth’s core
Where no one has been
I want to be where no one has been
The core. Feel the Black heat of death
Cold isolation in life. Isolation, Isolation
I want Isolation, I need Isolation
But they pull me , Why do they pull me
I’m not like them
Why do I like them
The Core, I will crawl to the core, and burn
Burn with black light, burn away and crumble
Crumble in the core

Poetry

Poem: Change ad Infinitum

Change ad Infinitum

Change ad Infinitum
Not even demons subscribe to permanence.
A concept unique to life.
Haunting beauty and powerful eloquence
Silver tongue of the sky and the birds
A song foreboding fading eminence.

We clutch at our stars, embrace and cradle,
If only for a moment.
As the march proceeds, it’s an only choice.
One we’ve never chosen.
Release yourself into the breeze
Lose yourself into the motion.

When they choose, the bells will ring
Then the clouds descend
Regardless of any offerings
Nothing can remain, Nothing will stay.
Regardless of the psalms to which you cling
Nothing can remain, Nothing will stay.

Poetry

Poem: Young Blood

Young Blood

My nights are drenched with the rancor of young blood
of realism and rotting flesh
Beaten dry then dragged through the mud
Already scatterbrained, though the moon is still fresh
Wandering about a landscape of death
I laugh a spineless laugh, choking on my rules
Grasping for a hint that I have yet breath
I shiver through the stares of disappointed ghouls

I come upon a thought carved in stone
That I am but a vessel for silence
the ire hardens into bone
And I hold my prayers dearly, searching for guidance
But only uncover a place wrought with violence
Knowing that existence is imperfect
That life and death share an alliance
There is no choice but to accept

Since the beginning till the end, order is but a shadow
from a tiny infant’s eyes to ones covered with a coin
Why exert myself if awaiting me is an arrow
I have no dance to join
No stirring of the loins
With an ever dissolving face
Bereft of all joy
I’m entangled at the edge of a pit’s embrace

I keep one eye on God, and the other on my secrets
Hiding away all my lies
During the times I am at my weakest
I swallow half my heart and leave the rest to die
My mother she cries
Rend my mouth open to cut away my tongue
My father, he sighs
Outside my window, I swayed and I hung.

Poetry

Poem: Heliophile Earthworm

Heliophile Earthworm

In sleep, I contort into the shape of a sickle

Through the window, a zephyr declares that daylight comes

A bath has ended – into a chalice, the dream trickles

Dreams are invertebrates, invertebrates wither from the pounding of drums

The crescent queen melts into the cream of sunlight

Morning manifests, it greets me with a kiss and a bite

 

Smacking of naked lips dried up and shriveled

The day is born blind and I am born hairless

I am a heliophile earthworm spewing my drivel

Careless, I am careless

Shudders reverberate through a forest of shattered tree trunks

I fondle the light, dirty white, broken into chunks

 

The naked soles of my feet pound to your strokes

Stiffening fur on the backs of honey bears

Scorched candies of tree bark and oak

The ache of pariahs is stitched into the fabric of my wears

And when the parrot speaks I will overflow

Like an Asian sun, a blaze, a golden glow