"Who..."

Loathe to remember what floated forth and floated by
And floated away when the mood dissolved.
Who am I, I constantly chant..

Seized

Lonely soliloquy
Bruised, baked
Burnt,
Hurt.
A child
Weeping
Gone, the hand
Held.
I am  here
Still here, clutched
Locked in silent sadness
Nowhere to go
Nothing new
Just more
Ugliness
Unaware of
Reality, and rivers of truth.
Solace is obsolete now
Inconsideration
Reigns, supreme
Torn, unrepentant
Blasted, broken, blamed.
If I changed my name
Could I escape?

Futility.
Momentum.
Destruction, burns
Fucking all in its path
Breaking, tearing, obliterating
War.
There
Are no
Victories
Not here
In this land
Of melted cells;
Competency stole
Everything.
And will, again
And again, and again
Until dying breath has
Been seized.

Made of Ash

Robbed.
Crumbling in an empty sea
Drowning as useless cartilage fails in its purpose
No limbs to beat against directionless waves
Only knees to bleed as evaporated rubble cuts and scars

There is nothing here-
No signs, no mileage known from here to anywhere.
There is only bleak, cotton-mouthed air
Tearing into a windpipe, that for the first time,
Contemplates the meaning of 'end'.

Biochemistry is brutal
Robbing sense as effectively as a knife to the throat
Random targets bust themselves,
Empathy, a cloudy morning from a time long gone.
Fucked by the wayside, and fucked again

This is a world where words die
Meaning, means nothing. And Catharsis eludes... perhaps, eternally
A banging of heads would only create music
As it is the broken parts that simmer still in their maniacal state
Sharp-edged, cruel, and hunting weakness

Omnipotent poison oozes
The intuitive filters of yesterday edit the edited
Free reign for brazen hideousness: come one, come all.
I am all those words that used to hold weight
Pinned to a dilapidated and abandoned hovel.

Beliefs are hand-picked, born of unseen whims
The whiff of sunshine does exist, in a place where mood might wander
But not here, not here in this land of unfiltered mania
Bereft with accusation and derogatory contempt.

There was nothing to be seen 'coming'
No prevention of incorrigible misunderstandings
Only loss.
Loss of love, loss of safety, loss of sweetness, loss of life
The way it was once known.

Memory raped by the suppression of crimes long gone
To a harmless being with a courageous fire.
The offenders, made of ash and ugly energy
Robbed too much of one bare-knuckled survivor.
And I have never known hate as I do now.

Forget

Is the answer in 'forgetting'?
Adopt the skills to forget what has bored a hole through my innards?
Tearing vitals down and warping what's left of 'healthy' living?
Scathing realities are soaking my brain
Saturating my immediate now in formaldehyde.
Why the fuck do I wish to maintain the memory of today?
When the traction of what is carving my gut out,
And rupturing the doom of 'worst case scenarios'...
Is baking my bones in a petulant roaring inferno.

Discoloration

Revisions
Revisions of time, time and memory
Gravel, disturbed, reins in on unrest
And the dryness of History moves forward.
Heat, swallowed. Swallowed in deep succession
Volatile process, wading into burnt reminiscence
Parched from the crunch of insolent misgivings
To vomit here is natural, but I suck in the dredge- deeper

In past the belly this time
Into the purgatorial wait, of a limbo locked in shit.

Who was I, in a field of unbleached titanium?
Barefoot again, and agreeable amidst the expanse of his freckled back.
He was yelling in the quiet, exasperated by his own insignificance
A projection he pawned off on me, as I moped about my own day in dutiful charm.
Those days at the lake, he drank in too much shortage
And allowed himself to believe in the philosophy of shame.
I am here today, wasting more time,
Adrift in the disoriented efficacy that he thumped onto my back.

There is no equilibrium in this dark set of pessimism.
Gulping down rot after rot, in the hope that if, swallowed promptly-
I can shit it out and away in due time.
To regurgitate these dismal emotional focal points
Is to dishonor the theory behind why I move on.
Continually wiping the ass of caustic unhappiness
Deforms the willingness to restore the optimistic morning.

It can't always be this way.
And it isn't. Thank fuck.

Follow the exit sign, Woman.
Walk away from the discoloration of those times
That fuel regret like a piss-starved, dehydrated cunt.
What words 'these days' hand to me,
To better articulate the rape of my heart.
I peel away from all notions that keep me cordial
An instead, exert the inertia of this cock-sucking hell that I roam into when I'm bold in my weakness.

I am purging myself of this emotional stench
Compliant to the urge of "Freedom of Speech"
And yet how I loathe this effective cruelty
Of killing my kindness with the brutal recollection of times - long lost.


 

D.M.K.

Obliterate. The morning has offered truckloads of unnerving thoughts
I sense my rest the night prior was compromised by dreams worth forgetting
Some ships need sinking, and others demand to reject rescue, no matter how good the will.
I need warming next to kind fires that stoke themselves with well-intentioned ease
This day finds me smothered in thick restlessness of the mundane variety
I fall short of triggers to set me free and trip into the clean waters of optimism
Instead, I stop, consider the source of greyness, and come close to choking on the lack of answers.

This Tuesday feels like a Monday, imbued in the responsibility of monotonous routine
Only the layer of strata that remains snug to my skin is rummaging through my nerves.
Muffled voices mention nothing that needs bothering with, and yet I seek to bother.

Muffled, muffled is a good word for all I am contemplating.
The actions I take at this moment in time are evasive in their direction
Ambiguous connotations flutter by as though I have the time to dissect bullshit
I am training this cortex to waste less time on broken windows
Protecting the mind is of paramount importance, against the onslaught of idle hands;
Hands made idle through the disingenuous ramble of superficial squawking.

Some part of me is gaining momentum, the morning wanders indirectly
Prominent thoughts circle-in closer, hoping to latch onto one constructive iota of meaning.
Fuck this blatant misuse of time and belligerent waste: opportunity cost is seizing
Making a mutant out of muscles that move as though they were watered by morphine.
The ugly banter of half-past ten a.m. is souring my tongue as I deviate - anywhere.
These manifestations of another's inconsolable black-mapping have dug into me- good
I now duck lower and see the obvious antagonist, pawned off, post-dusk, stale and ugly
The night prior has fucked my wits and hog-tied them until further notice.

...and just like that, the aura about me slips into a coma...
As the mood of another finagles its way into my foggy psyche.
Slipping into any willing membrane with his own restless energy
Diving under aged motivation and descending (I hope) until he 'bottoms out'.
Chuckling in this new moment, as the royal upheaval from one coat of skin into another
Leads me into a kinder, albeit restless, agenda... of the melancholy lovesong that skin issues forth.

I am good, good in this disposition that I have habitually known and (somewhat) understood.
So many keys I have earned and locks that remain locked until I shake off my own weighty doubt.
My mind is everywhere and nowhere and wanting to get worked until sweat turns me dry

It is hard to ignore young muscle on the prowl, the prowess of which oozes thickly in my face.
It's best to let my own sleeping dog lie, lie on cold concrete and lie to my face
Because the last thing I need is another can o' worms,
Consuming my system just because 'it feels good'.

But O motherfucker, can the mind run wild.

Else...

Wading through confusion, the bumble of indecision slurs.
Not all memories litter about like half-buried shards of shrapnel
Some are gentle, soft, warm, and cloaked in chiffon
They strike a bilingual balance among the halls of memory,
Recollecting clutched files that remain, regardless of their waning condition.

Warping egos fight to remain waxed in their arrogant brilliance
The arm's length here is long, strong, vigilant in its awareness
No more mountains to plant in light of the current 43 year old path
I've deliquesced enough valuable momentum into the drumming of futility.
Here I strike a new bargain, to eradicate the noise of indifference in thick gilded permanence.

I am plugging into the gentility this morning, to rinse myself of wretched tenseness
Taught shoulders wreak havoc on a neck that has harbored for too long, tensile sluggishness
I think to dream of lush acres in this 'now' is wise, as that is becoming my vitamin of today,
To strike a tactile agreement between these longitudinal muscles and the masculine form
I am running out and away from the strain of my usual gesticulation, and into something 'else'.