Dreaming of Hell

Tonight, I am afraid to sleep; for fear I will sink too deep. Past the mangled red trees, where reason can’t reach, and into that place where the lost ones weep. Wail. Mourn out loud of wisdom stolen in foolish folly or worse; a second of disconnected dispassion. Hell. The carcass that still lives. The … More Dreaming of Hell

She Bled Red Wine

I wrapped her, in red ribbon. I breathed against her skin, and heard her thoughts crashing against the inside of my skull, like bones clicking when stretched too far. She ached. Though I didn’t know why. Nor could I ask. Not yet. Her eyes changed colour with each mechanical snap of the lens. A flash … More She Bled Red Wine

Only Joking

Close the door, please. Open the window please. Stand, in the shadow of the sun. Smile. Make eye contact with the devil’s souls. The ones that leave trails. Fingerprints. Scents. Dance. Mingle. Laugh. Breathe. Mouth the words to myself: Stay calm. Have a drink. Sink; into the temporary release that comes from the gift of … More Only Joking

Just Sad.

Intellectually – it’s easy to acknowledge that there are so many different types of people in this world, and that those different types are necessary to make it all work – all go around – all turn, so to speak. It takes the hard asses, and the soft gentle types to make the different things … More Just Sad.

Dead Meat

In rage, I imagine the suffocation of a bull, in clear plastic. Layers, and layers of clear plastic. It can fight. It can call. But it’s strength will be it’s death. It will die. It’s how I feel, and the image I rewind and pause like an old movie, when I feel this way. Pounding … More Dead Meat

Compost

Lay me down, beneath the beckoning branches of the giants. Drive the marker into the earth, and pray, for my soul.

Pull…

We can undo the knot, that keeps it all in. You can walk away with it, still attached to the skin and I will unravel. Peel. Fray, and open up like a unbound flower. Allowed to breath from the first time. To breathe, and then to wilt, and fall limply to my knees, and you … More Pull…

Gift

My hands are cold, and my skin is old. A lifeless blue, and sore to touch. I cry, soft, in a private space, plush with reds and ribbon and lace; A sanctuary for me, and a faceless freedom. I lay my heart in the bowl, and watch the blood bleed and coat the engraved words: … More Gift

Soldering The Leftovers

Soldered into every muscle, into every collapsed vein, and into every organ that sleeps inside this cold and accidental body; lies what is left of my soul. It can be heard, like warped floorboards, creaking under the weight of the visitors, that come and go like, collectors of curiosities in a museum. Morbid collectables, to … More Soldering The Leftovers