All. Just. Lies.Life isn't all just fun and games.All. Just. Lies.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
No one really tells you about the hidden things swept underneath the rug, now do they?
They don't tell you about lies, oh yes, the incredible, lovable lies.
Now who doesn't like a daily dosage of that?
I mean, all people really are these days are shells.
It's your choice to crack it open or not.
Do you really want to know what they carry on the inside?
Do you want to see for yourself,
The "perfection" that they so themselves told you about or lead you on about?
Or would you rather just bury yourself in your own shell and call it a wonderful life?
Isn't life all about taking chances,
Building up an AMAZING courage to get drowned all over again,
To get suffocated until your head bursts,
Or until your heart breaks?
Such a wonderful life,
Full of wonderful choices.
Fate?Why the hell am I hereFate?1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Where silence SHRIEKS and SCREAMS
And invades every one of my dreams?
I use to have hopes and goals
And now I just breathe and desperately hope
To make it through another day and not choke
But there is no peace in my life
I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide
Have found that friends are enemies and all have lied
I wish to be set free
I run screaming down the snow-encrusted street
But there is nothing there and no one do I meet
God! I scream! Do you not see me here?
What did I do to deserve such torment and hate
Was I born simply to fulfill this fate????
NowNow and finally,Now1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I’m stopping down.
It's here - I’m here
within my depth.
I’m in my moment,
I’m on my road.
There’s nowhere else to go
to sing an everlasting song.
This is the end of bearing loads
and of shirking them
and then pouring into that old
impression in my bed
to dutifully pass from the realm of sound.
There’s no more scrawling
back and forth
for nights and nights
and lines over lines
on the same seven streets;
a tool that screams
in black crayola.
for the last dark winter,
I’m weightier than the fullest moon.
I feel the curbs,
their buckles and cradles of destination
suddenly smoothe into an empty plane,
and I know my radius
has overlapped some phantom twilight,
and I must stay inside the viscera
of twin mandalas, a vesica piscis.
My life’s no longer premature,
I found the end of the bullet wound.
And in the vapor of my final seconds
at my backdoor screen,
I belt the porchlight out into immensities
of space and sile
ruined flowersi open myself up,ruined flowers1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
til the water
bathtub ring stain
pink on porcelain.
i used to be nature
i used to be beautiful.
chemicals & acid
ate through my flesh
& i became
but something i could not want
something i could not love.
i am dried petals
forgotten to be pressed
of a loved book
or even one hated,
just left to desiccate.
i have plucked my own roots
from the soil
thinking i could become
i did not know
i would ruin what i was.
i did not know
i was beautiful- sad, yes,
but i was beautiful,
just as i was.