slenderblade

you slipped away from me as time slips awayand i would chase after you- occasionally you would turn to face mein your radiancebut your silence has used me and now you return to embrace me yet warmth does not fill my chesti no longer know who you are

guilt guillotine the head of emotion falls and splashes hard against the ground tar-belching fumes pour from the blood spatterthe sun is red and dim and it is night flitting faeries swing ball and chain scythes and smiles and glowing eyesred and black, the pit and your bloodstained hands crawling shadows furl and unfurl and your snarl is as doom-filled as ever death is your cloakthe shifting images in my mind pull me into this montage of ideas and yet again i cannot focus but the words are marching out of me like an army of cacophonyand a battalion of demons fly overhead zipping past: black lines under the falling planetsthe ground is cove...

high school teachers fawn over the grand structure of poets one-hundred years deceasedand we smile, one hundred years dead,preying on the minds of instructors centuries past our gravestones

like the sun so we burn away our sorrowsloves like the midnight hourjust a shadow of tomorrow's brilliant despair

pouring coffee on top and putting whipped cream on the top best for cold autumn mornings in high altitudes with pine trees. *nod nod* and the ground is hard and brown, and the brown pine needles crinkle and roll under your shoes everything crisp on the outside everything warm on the insidethe air is clear, not just to your eyes but to your nose your lungs you breathe in and are filled with a single momenta memory made of muscles and lungs and rosy cheeks and a colorful scarf

slowly my decline reveals itself to me where it comes from and where I've been and it all makes sensemy passion, my poetry all a protest against the red shift of reality and the reality of the red shiftand as I found that I could not stop it, no, as I found it could not be stopped, I fell into unhealthy acceptance and no longer did poetry hold its place protestantfor me it has lost its healing properties and now is just a place to go when I have an observation to publicize while I'm on my journey to the endand may my life choices hasten the day of my final ruinfor now I have no ruth and while I love you and know I would be missed I just ca...

we see shooting stars for less than moments yet we complain about the sunbless the claws of hell

trees fall when you look my way they crack and tumble the resulting dust is your cloakwe simple few