how does this end?

sorrow heart ache
eased by the cool breeze
a brain wrinkle free
wiped clean
to find the world new again
but it is only temporary
with an exhalation exchange
revealing the soft barrier
trying to hold back a root
the barrier breaks
a hollow root
leaves me unfulfilled
I no longer want what I desire
its form is wicked and wasted
it burns me with its touch
but my desire compels me
it lingers inside
giving life to root...

Oddmorningtime, but you know all about that.

Not yet Edited...

There were soldiers that stood guard at a wall, a very tall wall. It was something I was seeing on television. I knew that it was television, but as I watched it there was nothing of me left, The screen was my new eyes and my identity was useless in this world. There were many soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder. Light blue uniforms with dark berets. Something happened, something that cause the soldiers to stir to action. Like a film I saw the movement from multiple angles, hands reaching for weapons innocuously hidden in what looked like binocular bags. One of the soldiers shot another soldier. The question of betrayal, but it felt like the betrayal was of the dead soldier's doing. The other soldiers ran to the gate of the wall. A gate that seemed to have not top and opened like elevator doors,Suddenly there was a prisoner of these soldiers, that they had placed in a hole in the wall, so he was suspended with his legs sticking out. They ordered him to pull apart the cheeks of his ass. And when he did this a pile of rocks and dirt fell out. Then another man fell out. He was naked and old. He had a mustache and a tattoo on his upper left arm. The man in the wall was dead. Death was weird though, he was deflated and bloody, and the wall seemed to eat what was left of him. The soldiers were now more interested in this other man, a new prisoner. They stood around him shouting at him. It became unclear what happened to him next, but the guards stepped away from him and he was deflated and bloody. And then the wall ate him too. I had finally come back into existence and was disgusted by the cruelties of humans. Their treatment of others in what they felt were totally justified actions. It was snowing outside, again. I sighed and turned off the television. I was then shocked to find Ted sitting next to me. Smiling at me like he had not at all seen what was on the television. “How was Denver?” Ted asked.
“Good, but it snowed there too.” I replied with the sudden recollection of a trip. A thousand spotted memories came to me of the road, but nothing was concrete in my mind, only the snow, and only the deaths of two prisoners and a soldier. I then woke up. Confused and sore, I had fallen asleep and left a movie playing all night on repeat, it was playing in Japanese and there was a dutch man speaking. I looked at my phone to see what time it was....six in the morning. I looked at the window and found out it was snowing, again. Still tired, and still sore, I decided to not get up quite yet. I turned off the television and went back to sleep. Then I awoke again, this time there was no snow outside, but it was still cold. I repeated my actions, I looked at my phone to see what time it was....8:45. The television was still going, but now it was playing in English with the dutch man still speaking, subtitles that were not matching with what was being said. I once again turn it off, and layed down to think about my dreams.

Staircase

We walk with the reflections of
streetlights looking up at us from puddles
an uncomfortable pace.
A guided tour of the passing of time
You talk about her like she is dead
recalling childhood, a strange lilting tune
you tell me of sneaking out to go buy lemon soda
you tell me about smores, and rooftops, and mudfights
you talk about her like she is dead
the tune lingers on your lips
you are giving a eulogy

I twice again let the phone ring
because even though I judge you
I am no better
you communicate with the dead
and I ignore the living
I don't know how to tell you
that I am powerless
I can only make things worse
that you are alone
to fight off the demons
of a hurt mind
but I truly feel that I can do no good
not for her


not all wounds heal
I am afraid
this might
be one

A dash of disgust

I am
tired of a world
that complains
that worries
that talks of problems
and resolves them with
inaction

fuck you
noble warriors
your ideals
are only a rationalization
for yourself
attempts to
make peace with the fact
that you have so much
while there are those with
so little

teeth scar your elbows
as you shove
beliefs
down throats

A short length of wire

Filament, fickle and fragile. Our bond is just as this. it can shine so bright and break so easy. I do not know how we have fallen upon this road {the gray macadam} almost smooth until examined to reveal a never=ending network of mountains and valleys. Our perception is limited to our ability to conceive its boundary. So then why do I conceive such a limited range??, why is my perception limited by my ability to express what I assimilate??> There are shortcuts that people take, filling in the gaps with garbage, substances that are not substantive...a crushed receipt fluttering away in the wind. They toss words out into the world polluting with a thoughtless thought, a race to fill the refuse bin constructed of wrinkled gooey flesh. Feeling without sensation, such a fragile and amazing mechanism, I remember the rain now, coming back to me like a drink with an old friend. Spirits lifted, (a pun this late in the game?) The sun sees its chance and cuts through the clouds to create a confused brilliance at a late hour, a world of gray with squares of gold reflecting toward me pulling me from my window and out into. The sounds of that world documented in my mind, these are the sounds that lead me to peace. Sounds not orchestrated by an individual, but by many people and an animate world constantly in motion. I took a trip once, a while back and was impressed by a town because it seemed so quiet, there were people and activity but it felt like the world was muffled, it seemed incredible at the time, but it was really only how I perceived my surround that was different. I looked at this town in wonder, with eyes wide open to take in all. The sounds that I loved about that place were no different then the sounds of my home. The difference was that I had tuned out the world that I lived in. Placed a note on it saying “nothing special, just ignore” in my mental map. I now question if I do this with people, how available am I in the current moment? The road is dark now, not unpleasant, but dark, I have drawn into myself and have lost track of my surroundings again, the streetlights attempt to embody their namesake pouring a dull yellow orange over the dark, the collection of lights take turns shining turning on and off in a pattern that I am unwilling to wait to decipher. I am reminded again of our bond shining brightly, fragile, and fickle. a light turns off again.

Phobetor

I gaze upon a white horse

its shape, carefully outlined by the charcoal night

black embrace, only reaching the edge of his skin

he shines defiant in the dark

the moon receives from him

borrowing brilliance

I look into his eyes

and I see fear, and I see pain

A look betrays his majesty

quiet sadness

I reach out, placing my hand on his warm skin

remaining still, I can feel life

flowing, beneath my fingers

Fear dissipates

his eyes

now distant from me

have a secret to share

but as all deities obey

mortals never understand

I lift my hand from the rich white sand

as if freed from some tether

he runs

a beacon of light

fighting off,

shadows at night