Shred Me

Shred me.

Tear me up

and leave me wasted.

Crawl inside me

and poison me

from the inside out.

 

I’m dead anyway.

I was done the instant

I saw you,

standing in the afternoon sun

amid the straggling

crowd.

 

So obliterate me.

You know you can,

and somewhere inside,

you know you want to.

 

Give me mercy.

Put me down like a rabid dog

and end this nightmare

I’m trapped in.

 

There is no

life after you.

 

3-20-20

Flying Towards Destruction

I feel the rip–

all raw edges and ragged bits

of impossibility,

tucked somewhere inside

my gut.

 

The pain should be enough

to keep me

from the knife,

but the cut is an addiction

all its own.

 

Soon I will be ribbons;

just fluttering red strips

of my soul

in the wind.

 

Still,

fate isn’t easily resisted,

and I fly

towards my own destruction

aware.

 

3-19-20

Something

Rain hits the pavement

like millions of tiny diamonds

falling from the sky

and bouncing in the reflected light

of a digital city.

 

The smells of coffee and artificial pine

leak out from open doors

of brightly lit shops

with painted windows.

 

Ghosts huddle in shadows,

tucked between buildings

like old boxes between furniture

in a spare room.

 

Holiday music invades the streets

in short, offbeat bursts,

as customers rush in and out,

frantically emptying their wallets.

 

Cars roll by

in a slow and halting gloom–

stop, wait, roll three feet, stop,

as their drivers curse the world

and its banality.

 

There used to be something else here,

something important,

something underneath it all.

It has faded,

but still teases the edges of my memory.

 

I’m afraid,

because I’ve forgotten its name,

and without that

it will die,

and somehow,

so will we.

 

12-14-19

Hung with My Own Illusions

Dipped in liquid

fire,

you tore me

from my

stupor,

and hung me

with my

own

illusions,

until my eyes

had cleared

once

more.

 

7-7-19

* Written for Loki… the god, not Tom  Hiddleston’s Marvel character

 

While the World Erupts

Clover fields

and sun-drenched skies,

wispy clouds,

they are but lies.

 

Everyone

is shrill, is cold–

nothing’s real,

they’ve lost their souls.

 

Smiling kids

with viper’s fangs

ring their bells–

for death, they clang.

 

Lovers in

their secret rooms

turn to dust

inside their tombs.

 

Nations rise

while others fall

but this time

death comes for all.

 

Shadows play

before my eyes,

whispering

what next will die.

 

Go along

and play your games

while the world

erupts in flames.

 

7-7-19

The Journey Home

The silence

burrows deep into

my skin,

soaking right through

to my veins.

 

The air is

tight,

anxious,

as if it fears

the coming

storm.

 

The highway

stretches out

before me.

A painted sunset

reflects its light

on wet

pavement,

casting a blood-red

sheen.

 

My mind feels

muddy,

thick,

as I contemplate

the road

before me.

 

The sunset fades

and a fingernail

moon,

almost dark,

begins its

ascent.

 

I pick up my

soul

from the highway’s

shoulder,

tucking it

deep inside

where no one

can find it–

the journey home

is never

safe.

 

7-4-9

 

Thought Control

A needle

pierces my flesh

and contortionist memories

begin to twist

through my

mind.

 

I try to blink,

to open my

eyes,

but am pulled back

to the phantasm display

whirling

behind my lids.

 

Real and unreal

blend,

then separate,

then blend again,

like a kaleidoscope,

and I try to focus

on one single

spot,

like a spinning dancer,

to keep steady.

 

The imagery

swirls before me,

challenging my

past

and taunting

my future.

 

I try to scream,

but my saccharine

coated tongue

rests heavy,

like a sandbag,

damming up

a river of

sound.

 

The world seems

off balance,

tilting,

and I fear I might

roll off  the

edge.

 

I can feel

the other bodies

in this living graveyard,

hear their moans,

and smell

the sour

of their frightened

humanity.

 

I remember

when they brought us

here,

or I think I do,

and I try

to hold on

to their reason–

their lie,

amid our

threatened truths.

 

They said

we were dangerous.

A threat

to order.

Enemy combatants.

 

But that

is absurd,

for the only weapon

I’ve wielded

was a

pen.

 

7-3-19

 

 

 

 

Shattering the Looking Glass

I have shattered

the looking glass.

The haze clears

and I see the ruins–

smouldering

and wasted.

 

Loose, waving curls

of acrid smoke

lick at the sky

like serpent’s tongues;

they seem to dance

above the burnt out

sanctuaries

and hidden vaults

that I

laid bare.

 

It’s all exposed–

the useless trifles,

the rack,

and the rusted chains

which bound us.

 

Shadows slide

between burnt-out rooms,

wandering

with unknown purpose

towards emptiness,

and away from nothing.

 

Everything is gone–

prison and home,

secrets and promises,

truth in lies.

I have shattered them all

in the looking glass.

 

7-2-19

 

Dance Club Prince (or The Prince of Area 51)

*Area 51 is a club in Salt Lake City, Utah. After Confetti, the old 16+ goth/industrial club in Sugar House, closed in the late ’90’s-early ’00’s, the scene migrated to Area 51. Some people from the old days still hang around there, from what I’m told. I wrote this at a sticky table near one of the dance floors many years ago while particularly intoxicated. On a napkin. There was a glitter covered, and very pretty, boy flitting around. What can I say? I blame Jack Daniels.

 

 

Very charming little boy,

You must think you’re quite a catch.

Helium head with a pretty face,

How you sparkle in the strobe light,

Little prince.

 

6-14-06

 

 

Launched from the Past

Unknowingly,

I launched a

missile

from my distant past

to my unlucky

present.

 

Now I run for

shadows,

gasping in the smoke

of burning

calm.

 

The flames whip the sky

as I dodge the flying

shrapnel

of my obliterated

mind.

 

3-24-19

 

 

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