Swinging Trees.

She swings on a tree, committed to fear, listens closely as the rain pours near. So far away, the thunder cracks in her head. Covered by terror and haunted thoughts, she looks down and sees she’s swung too far. Touching her leg, she sees all she’s bled from veins that pour out colors other than red.

Like the Garden of Eden, evil hides here. There is little hope, little love, disguised as beauty (a conniving fiend). She sees her evil lurking above— the sun, constellations, a bull fighting hard. Running wild, swinging from leaves, there is more evil that likes to leer. Preying on victims of common descent, an evil named Lox disguised as “persevere”. But there is no such thing, the swinger screams. He’s cunning and bright, though, a deserving dream.

I watch as he overtakes her mind, the thunder no longer quiet, I begin to die.

The Garden of Eden is inside of you— in your head, in your thoughts, through and through. There is an evil, committed to fear, disguised as a girl swinging in trees. Alive and bleeding, pints of sanity lost, fall for innocence, truth, you’ll bear your own cross.

Unparalled and Uncaged.

Unfaithful to your promises, you’ve paralyzed my soul. A rich halo of gold and white has disguised the demon inside.

My soul is uncaged, protection unbarred, my soul is darkness, incapable of being renewed.

We live with our mind, unparalleled hearts, we live vicariously through the seas. The spirit of unfathomable love, aspiring the creation of majestic love, requiring halos and truth. Our world does not know.

We react, we burn, we are dying today. You alone have uncaged my heart, burned my soul, tore me apart.

Paralyzed bodies, we walk to find majestic love and glory. The glory, the storm, the solitude, the cure. The black spot, the cursed mark, the demented angels.

The demented angels haunt.

We walk with unparalleled hearts, yours unlocked but cursed from the start. That majestic glory and love? I know where it is. You point to yourself. I say you don’t breathe.

Your soul is uncaged, I cursed your heart. Unfaithful to my promises, my mirror shouts to just stop. You are not here. I am gone, too. But your reflection speaks to me.

It’s haunting.
I’m gone.

Desert.

We are an army of soldiers walking the field, watching faces of the enemy become more clear. Open land, no place to hide, we are exposed without time to mitigate fears we have inside.

You lean on me and say, "I've been shot."

And just like that.
You were gone.

"You should have jumped in front," my conscious mind says, "taken the bullet; saved your friend."

I should have jumped, I wouldn't have died-- you're already gone if you're dead inside.

War.

One piece, one look. As addiction seeps into the skin, a parasite has found its host. Again, repressibility sleeps. And a war has begun. Snoozing itself, repressibility sleeps. I am at war, myself and my whore. Beside me it lays— greedy and selfish, unworthy of a name.

I turn to my side, watch my hand glide, feel closely as the world subsides. My whore is a bitch, sleeping with both my body and mind. It is a nuisance, tort of aggravation, capable of controlling the brightest and still all the rest. Raging fire, a disturbing fight, gain is diminished and I am hidden from the light.

We live and love in a cave, hidden from emotional creatures. I tell it to let me go.

Hurt from weakness, the pain never mends. Broken by war, I am one with remorse. Accidental addiction, repressibility sleeps. Scared, scarred, shaken and starved, I have initiated war.

Poison.

There is a hand inside my heart, clenching and pushing, trying to reach out. Disruptive of the blood coursing through 1my veins, more like poison, I’m no longer sane. The hand, it hurts, drowning in pumping blood and the echo of a heartbeat.

My veins are suffocating.

There is a rock inside my heart. A boulder that pulls it down, my heart is laying on the ground. It’s covered in dirt, the rock left to dust. Tainted heart, bruised and beaten, tired mechanical heart, beating until the stars disappear. A rock left to dust, the heart, stardust.

My veins are suffocating.

There is a hand inside my heart. A fluid motion of pulsing and straining, breaking and mending, tearing and scarring, trapped inside the taste of life. I can taste the blood, see it seeping from inside of me. A part of me, broken free.

My veins are suffocating.

I cannot breathe. Mechanical heart, do you beat? There is glass inside my heart. Shattering, cutting endlessly. I am alive. I am alive with the poison that flows through my veins, I am alive with the energy of the world consumed with greed.

“I will help you live,” the heart says.
She whispers, “I will help you die.”

My veins are suffocating. And I am the poison. Seduce and destroy, I am the poison.

Dust.

Standing on a balcony a hundred feet off the ground, wipe the dust and soot from the railing onto the floor. The cold of the breeze and the sting of the metal inch under her skin like goosebumps after a warm bath. What was meant to save acts as a lure to death, standing on the balcony a hundred feet off the ground. Hands barely holding on, her cold feet widen apart by the fate of the wind.

Breathlessly falling,
breathlessly feeling,
breathlessly reaching out for dust.

The soot on the bed is from she and I, dirty minds and dirty bribes. The soot on the pillow, that is mine. The chemistry of love combined with the chemistry of the mind creates soot from the eyes that bleed onto cotton-poly blends that will never wash out. Like a tattoo on the face, it will never wash off.

By the fate of the wind, fall from balcony to grave; fall from balcony to grave and still stay still awake. The sound of strangers awaken me, their feet feeling like a colony of ants having their way with me. That light you see, that light that’s so bright, fluorescent they say? It’s blinding me. The brighter the light the darker the shadow, I see the shadow floating out to sea. I look at the balcony and raise myself up. The stronger the love the deeper the cut.

The cold of the breeze and the distance of the fall would have better ruined her than given her another chance at all. I look at the balcony and raise myself up. A shadow is watching, mimicking every move, the mind unallowing of the fates to corrupt.

Standing on the balcony, a hundred feet off the ground, there is a girl below about to drown. In a puddle of torn love and unconscious mind, I jump off and breathlessly reach out for dust.

Self-Nemesis: An Abecedarian Sonnet.

Let me breathe, let me go, let me travel to the moonbeam.
Nemesis in my head, but there is a sound—falsetto,
piercing through my ears; a cirque
reeling in my head as I run through the gleams,
turning my head to find a psychiatric guru.
Vengeance, maybe, I am caught in a willow,
excruciating pain, my vision goes awry;
zipping my jacket to save myself, a panacea
birthed from a twist of a hand. Still, I am toxic,
demure yet brash, I have no love.
Fugitive to a glamorous life, I am going,
halcyon, I will go; halcyon. I
justify myself, both of me. Let me go, let me sink.