Textures

The rake of calloused palm against worn, sallow face; the loom of perfume on handkerchief lace The dither of moonlight illuming the grey; the noir from afar to a time cast away The burning eyes cooled by drying of tears; the sleeve used to grieve before anyone hears The venom overheard by the children at

Die a little more

Awake to fake a smile and conversations Surviving on lies to avoid the questions Counting minutes, enduring the moments Meaning irrelevant, memories forgotten Breathing to seethe from the brokenness Suffocating in silence on shattered glass Staining the pieces with threats and epithets Shaping a self-portrait with knuckles and hate Alive to dive deeper into harking

MIA

Melancholia Inevitability Annihilation art: (untitled) by Eric Lacombe

Echo

Whispers in the wind With but one to hear the words Echo back to me art: Der Mönch am Meer by Caspar David Friedrich

Winter’s gift

Winter’s gracious gift Shamed by the cold forest floor A blanket of snow art: shadow side by Margarita Georgiadis

Bent

Gallows’ refraction Moonlit lakeside reflection Bent on destruction art: Untitled (Gallows Tree 2) by Paul Smith

Rocking chair

Cool air, disturbing hair, the breathy whisper of convenience; rocking in safety and boredom; shackled to obedience and fear A foot brushes carpet in the darkness of a screaming mouth; hoarding silence as gold; looking through the soul to only desolation outside Hunting for treasures in the dung of afterthought; finding, as expected, only dung;

Whether the storm

Alone in the frigid cold, the stars her only guide, while consternation constellations in every direction, threaten to hasten the end Whether the storm of tempests rage against the sky, the shifting plates fault the land, the rising oceans swallow the continents piece by piece Or while ravaged by the fire from an untamed sun,

The many gods

Tongues and fingers light the path, flickering this way and that, casting hawkish shadows upon themosaic of dimly lit memories Twisting language and shifting grips,searching for the righteous wordsand propitious angles, hoping thepast is forgotten, thus forgiven Begging and bargaining to their one of the many gods, to be favoured above their brothers,flattered above their

Corvid

The corvid whispered his secrets feared, piercing his flesh with nail; he tried to scream, but could only hear, the corvid’s wicked wail They’re watching you, he knew it true, because the corvid said it so She pecked and poked for the writhing worm, buried in memory’s grume; he could not flee nor fight nor

The march

One beside himself;hand over fist, disgorging the shrapnelto bestrew his perditious path He tries in vane to tamethe memory-go-round;the golden ring long begone, yet his mind it shackles still There’s infinity in every footfall,of his never-ending journey;timelessness preempts salvation, with a deafness of damnable knells The solemn march of a good soldier,forging into the beknownst

Buried memories

What buried memories have I? Those that would drag me to   their perfidious depths;  where the skeletons of sanshi await   to cradle an ancient woe Those that would evulse tears unbidden,  ignite the searing guilt,   encite the burning questions;  lead the rings of fire to shed shame   amidst blush and fluster They who would turn a deaf ear

Hung up

Not the first, but likely the lastWaiting on the line for a caller Hung up on a busy signalNo time for a dead end like me Tongue-tied, strung upTied up ‘neath the crossed T Dotted eyes are now closedAccord, without consensus Benignity failed, depths scaledKnot the time for a swing Bad reception, lost connectionI’ve got

Asylum

Do not touch within the asylum, lest disease and madness spread Stay disconnected from the others, to keep the bogeyman away Keep your gaze tracking low, and you’ll not aggravate the violent… or see them coming Hide your many opinions, or the truly insane will posture and prevail Walk the streets in daylight, for the

Crumbs

untrammelled fingertips scratching for crumbs of dignity frenetically lurching for a morsel, searching across a society that’s failed no fraction of compassion to justify a place for humanity no sliver of transient sanity to quell the delusions of misplaced hope clawing hands cannot wring, and digging fingers bear the filth of truth praying hands sit

Left behind

Dreams departing like webs on the windEach new endeavour more transient than the lastErstwhile wishes begetting ersatz desiresIn a tangled bramble of silkless litterfall Every chip in the ego, births a crack in the psycheAnd the stretching interstitial tendrils grasp wildly Trying to hold onto the mind, hold fast the shatteringStill they escape the awareness

The man

It was her favourite time, whenhe would slip into view on thehorizon. Who is he, she wondered,what is his name She gazed for days upon his malaise,from afar.Insouciant fate made the man hers alone,serendipity smiled at the irony He bore a pale, shimmering pall abouthim, a ghostly glow. She lit up at his very presence,

Ever hell

When I within my darkness stumble, it’s you on whom I dwell; for you are she who let me crumble, alone within my ever hell I rip and tear the wicked prison, of my rufescent shell; in hope to find a light yet risen, lo, naught within my ever hell My pleas and prayers fall