Hope

Whoa, what bitterness is this

Whose twisted thoughts have I trekked in?

Surely this darkness isn’t mine,

This want for aching, wasted time

Someday I’ll be solid, healed

Someday the nightmares won’t be there to steal

If the nights are silent, the days reveal

Endless screaming from the ones repealed

Some time night and day alike

Will toss their haunting-juggling storms

Aside

And all the worry and fear I despise

Will finally

Entirely

Subside.

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orphan

it still hits me like deep chills,

wind that flows in my bones, without any right to frost my skin

yet it does, it does

the tantalizing taste of life, the lightning-bolt-belief of light

i feel as though no one has lived before me,

how could any exist in this same place

without crumbling into dust?

I swear my intensity is unmatched

i promise the iron that crystallizes in my blood is unmet by predecessors

who are you to challenge me? i can’t even breathe

your air

this place is foreign and i will blink until the sun sets on

all these wasted words.

Do you recall the times

You called out in the night

And your voice bounced off the walls,

And all around, in spite?

 

And you weren’t careful with your words

Because you thought

the darkness

swallowed them.

 

I was there for every wish

Every lost thought and brokenness;

i stalked your breath and kept your kiss

your secrets enslaved to my shudder and fist

 

you wanted relief but you sold the release

and now

you are known by unknown entities;

LIKE ME.

feast

Let spill the sizzling hilt of sword

that dams your flooding blood with steel

the lapping blade, its greedy stains

which bring the coping rain.

 

My vision blurs, I sink and swirl

and every cell within.

my poison will never win

I vomit ink to cure the meat

of pages of empty sin.

 

Make me a steak of refusal-fate

and I’ll spit in my hand and grin.

I’ll slay whatever filthy hound

would cut my bile with gin.

 

I don’t know who I am when all these wordlets nip my skin

Help!

Ah! I propagate such worthless states
I kindle hearts with eating-haste

I sip the silver lip of eyes
The gourds of flame, of fire and ice

I whirl the spinning and purloin their stares
I whistle and whip up the ferryman’s wares

I catch my breath on the current of thought
And my oil-slick heart bleeds — a lot.