Ars Poetica

To lay in the dark,

without purpose or

prospect,

is to seal one’s own will

and to welcome decay.

The burning sensation

of boredom, which

squirms and burrows

in one’s skull is the precursor

to madness.

Yet, if one stops for a moment,

he can see his

slim and pasty fingers

flick and jitter and

ache and crave

the passage of thought.

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All Of Us

To Crave Is…

To flail beneath the surface for air
inches from where blue meets white and
never reach the soft cool wind

To lie in a damp black room with
one window outside of which
a tiny stained bulb cracks and
snaps at you; your only thoughts
of how you haven’t eaten
all day

To breathe softly on a friend’s
back porch and stare
into the trees, listening to
the swarming insects,
finding mates and loving
their nectar, and grinding your teeth
because your nectar is
gone again.

The White Lines – Poem

 

The white lines began to blur

as my wrists folded under

the comatose chest

pressed

against the mirror

by the thin liquid

the razorblade drew

on accident.

 

Crumbling into the bright white

brought the happy numb

that felt like seventh grade

on the last day before summer,

when she gave you her number

on that old beige bus,

that you left,

absolutely elated.

 

It didn’t last long,

and neither did the next,

or the next,

one could go on

until this love

which crumpled my chest.

 

I’m alive again

alone

in the dark,

forgetting about dad,

about mom,

and her

when the white lines blur.

-untitled- (poem)

Layers of skin are peeling away…
but the new skin just looks all the same.

In the dark, I watch him tie…
the sheet from which my body will die.

Tangled in black strands of thick cloth…
I try to imagine what’s gained and what’s lost.

This demon of mine, what he wants, I don’t know…
he thinks I can only be happy alone.

Repeating again, that new skin is the same…
I question if happiness is truly in vein.

A constant struggle for attention, I cry…
protected by dark, so cleverly disguised.

My heart, still beating, the only thing I despise.

The Forest (poem)

No matter when or where, I’m always alone

when I pull my car up to the side of the road.

I step out, clasping cold metal and broken glass

my black boots crunching the frozen black grass.

I take a look to my left, in the black and white woods

exposing the world, without all the good.

I take a walk down the path crafted from shattered dreams

each step polluting the air with a thousand screams.

The trees let go of their bright white frond

reducing to black, as they sink in the pond.

The water’s cold and lifeless, emotions are grim

if I had something to lose, then I’d go for a swim.

Just to stay dry, I keep on the trail

and wait for every chance I get to exhale.

It’s the only point of relief in this desolate place…

holding a hood over my head, and hands over my face.

I ensue for some time, feet moving with technique

Until I notice her familiar dark physique.

I stare at her pale face, as she’s shaking her head

flooding my brain with inexhaustible dread.

I don’t say a thing, and neither does she

With unspoken feelings, we silently agree.

The solution will never be found

the only problem is me.