Work was INSANELY boring last night

so I wrote to pass the time



A woman whose visage could warmly melt, if you let it
Into food for the soul, looks with good taste.
So easily does her lioness flame
combust, a wick of guilt, or of blame
I'd sooner evaporate, if that's okay?
Howling from Olympus, gods you forgot
rivers of fulfillments, streaming yet unsought.
Your mindscape, it's a place to be, with insides to see
Where we could sit, sipping fresh hot tea.
But that's not the bag that I imagine dipped,
Nor is it the cup that I would have sipped.
Maybe it's steam you've made from my vapor,
or just meaningless words that sound good on paper
This image of you, no clearer could it get
Breaks into word unmastered, as of yet



Bit the bullet, mouth shattered
Too hard to swallow, these broken teeth
Language left with body, luggage for another trip
Thoughts slip into colors, you illuminate
with a brilliant truth, too beautiful to be seen
The only darkness for miles, my own lashes
flickering like a panic board, left ignored
Tainting your truth, coveting with kisses,
Only a child could imagine a happy Misses.
Fission, into the void, Fission, into the horizon.
A beam of light, whose one permittance was to shine
Followed by a mere animal whose instinct is to chase.
Grasping at the dust you kicked, holding it like a mirage
Fingertips pressed to your form, dispersing as palms reach
The dust fades, the spectrum has shifted.





The Void looms,
it wants Nothing but to collapse,
inverting a timeless echoing wail.
It swirls like a staircase of petals around a stem,
A pillar of stone affront from each side by a different season.
It aches to crumble, to give in,
because it is powerlessness in itself
evolving on its own regression.
I drop below the shallow face of its puddle
My last attempt to word surfaces
bubbles rhythmically popping

Patiently twist and knot,
it drips from the wrinkles.
Each time a new form.
Fuck it, I said.
For the time it took,
and for the yield.
Fuck it.
If the time was given back,
I would throw it away.
No one needs to know
why failure is hidden.
Pencil gripped, mind possessed:
"what a fool he is!"
looking back, weapons sheathed
I sorely miss crossing paths
more than swords.
You're a fool, damn you.
And it's full circle.



Reflectionless black irons drape from chains,
dragging punctured skin from all sides.
Coiled within, a serpent, maturing into a fine noose
choking as it winds, strangling as it pivots.



Dust, twirling
resting on Death's yawning lips
Given life and spun out across the fields of stars,
like our lost brothers, voice too soft to break
the sheer width of silence.
A monkey captivated by its reflection,
admiring the opposite image
of what has been seen.

if I'm truly sand meant to endlessly churn
between the timeless ticks of God's hourglass,
then I can only hope to once again find
those gems that I hold most precious;
Specs of dirt that shine to my hue,
vibrate to my frequency.
Losing such harmony,
not half as painful as never realizing it.