Corpse Conscious

Visceral reality

Blood, muscle, and flesh,

All elements of the body

So palpably aware.

A carnal revelation

In litanies of pain

Written by dissection

On cerebellum walls.

So pliable and weak,

So simple to restrain,

So sensitive to touch,

Manipulatable and soft.

Do bones of the starved

Congeal into demons

To slake their thirst

On our living blood?

Do hordes of average men

Yearn for satisfaction

In the sight and feel

Of our mangled forms?

Should I desire much

To be just a ghost,

An incorporeal dust

Just floating alone?

And how would that soothe

The screaming I hear

From a younger sibling

Whose cat ran away?

Thaw Me

Steam over snow

Melting away my dust

Vapor over crystal

I’m desperate to become,

Killing everyone

Fucking away the pain

Just won’t cut it

And I can’t even run,

Smile and a kiss

Without a worry for once

I’m still waiting

I’m still too numb,

Blood over snow

Lounging in my wreckage

Anger over fear

And the damage was done.

Not like this,

Not frozen in my hate,

Please, just a kiss,

I’ve waited for too long,

Please,

I’m so sorry,

I’m ready to move on.

 

A Poetry Poem

I wish I could express

In speech as I do in writing

How much I feel about you,

How heavily I care,

How deeply you affect me,

And everything that means.

Mind to mind,

Or empathy to recognition,

In terms of verbal exchange

Is apt to be uncomfortable.

You can read my poems

And feel me more fully

Than you ever could’ve felt me

Face-to-face.

Extrordinary circumstances

Might expose our true emotions,

But the mundanity of self-consciousness

Prevents a simple telling.

I can try,

And occasionally do well,

But I’ve little hope of equaling

The context of the written word.

I love you.

The Broken Heart Of A Thief

The thief’s heart broke

When sleight of hand failed

To hold onto his refuge

Inside another’s care.

Cold-empassioned power

Over objects he desired

Dissevered him form owning

Up to his affairs.

Compassion held at length,

Practiced sparingly at best,

Serves a frigid education

On attatchment’s frail grasp.

Cleverness and cunning

And other secrets of the craft

Stole nothing more than money,

Indifferent to the last.

Clasped in no one’s arms

And kissed by nothing’s lips

To procure another hour

In which to exist.

The theif consumed a fifth,

Broke the bottle, cut his flesh,

Threw himself through fire

Till he physically was numb,

But the bleeding never ceased

In the lovelessness of loss,

His temper always burning,

Wishing feeling would be done.

At length, despair entrenches,

Cruelly cradled in its womb

With his temper snuffed to ashes

And abrasions scabbed away.

To live or not to live,

To steal and not to give,

Decisions made in silence

Over living on this way.

Is it some force of fate

That the labor he hates

Is the credit he desires

Now that all else is dead?

He begs for bitter toil

As a mercy to his hate,

Hoping somehow to be healed

From his existential dread.

The thief turned to begger,

Not for money or relief,

But for service to another

For submission to defeat.

Humbled in desperation,

Pleading to be re-loved,

Bleating for a shelter

Possessed at someone’s feet.

The heart hurt more than hunger,

The misery worse than rage,

The spleandor of his plunder,

The thief, for love, would trade.

I Wish I Could’ve Been Myself

What was personified and what was genuine

Are so terribly mixed, I’m unsure.

That which bewilders is beset

With doubt between what’s real and pure.

Make-believe and masquerade

My many truths beffudled in mystique.

A sample of a splinted soul

Shrouded in saturations oblique.

Deciet drawn with smiles

To distract from fractured truths.

My naked self encased away

In case of breakage or missuse.

Secrets so nobody knows

The depths of misery I contain,

The shame and weakness

I consume and in my fear sustain.

I wish that I had been myself

But being myself, what a mess was made.

A look beneath my stained visage

Betrays the oceans I’ve kept restrained.

It’s coming soon, I must confess,

My will and levies are going to break.

So when I finally be myself

My tears might drown away my aches.

Please Love …

It’s relieving;

A passion, intellect, and creativity

In a mind that’s not my own.

Intricacies of thought

In curling spirals interwove

Between the heart and dreams

Of an identity aflux

With wants and contradictions

Too personal to touch.

I admire you

For careing too much

But regardless carrying on

For every scalpel to your heart

And every nail in your palm.

Through bleeding and rust

From trust turned to deciet

By the quivering hands

Of one once at your feet.

I’m touched

Just to know you’re alive

Helps in feeling less alone

When depression’s winter chill

Seeps into teeth and bone.

If a thought could reach

From my bossom to yours,

I’d give as much love

As your heart could endure.

The Paragon Of Human

Truth, love, and beauty;

Passion, lust, and touch;

Sensitivity to sensation

And paranoid towards trust.

Entertaining daydreams

Like therapy with dolls

With such awoken eyes

Searching for the cause.

The ends and the extremes

Blend and balance well

With the overactive mind

Imprisoned in its shell.

From lofty declaration

To the bitterest debate,

Through endless troubled minds

And self-deceitful hate

Are woven little strings;

Patterns evermore complex

Down crevices of ecstasy

And mountains of distress.

The paragon of Being

Human always more or less

In chaos everlasting

Till blissful stateless death.

Burning or cradling,

Tender or rough,

Knowledge and wisdom,

Too little or too much.

One without another

Like everything is not,

As love is to lust

What gotten is to got.

And yet,

I wish you well

Please feel better

Keep me warm

Kiss me deep

Fall asleep

Let it go

Stress no more.