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
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
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
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 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.
7-4-19
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
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
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
A thousand miles
or more
stands
between us.
I should be
safe,
but somehow
I can still feel
your pull.
Echoes
of the taste
of your skin,
they stay too long,
for such things
that should be
forgotten.
I lie here
mired in memory,
unable to be
released
from your
grasp,
while a tightness
grips my chest,
pulling everything
inward,
and away
from a world
without you.
It is cruel
for you to
linger
like the taste
of a crabapple–
that bitter-sharp
temptation
of regret.
I want to
pour you
from my mind,
to scour you
away
with the remnants
of before.
Yet here you remain,
giving me no
respite
from your
hauntings.
A wail rises up
from my
core
and flows
from my
long-neglected
lips–
I will never
be free
of
you.
7-2-19
The roiling masses
scoop ashes of yesterday
into purses of gold,
as they crawl through fog
unaware of its caustic fumes.
The scent of lavender
and a glint of emerald light
sneak out from cracked-stone monuments
to dead and misplaced dreams.
In the distance
A low wail begins.
3-21-19
Shattered Mindspace 