Para Ana

She believes she is ethereal.

As her putrefying claws,

Hook into my mouth.

Vile stench scratching,

Sores bulge and blister and

Green bile blossoms.

She wants to push me out,

She has come to stay now.

Snakes tongue flicks, 

Spites my guilt.

Hissing, spitting, hateful.

Lullabies entwine my guts.

Minds zombie mocking,

Narcissistic whispers.

She wants to push me out,

She has come to stay now.

As acidic gargoyles,

Erode my insides with 

Piercing marbled daggers.

Bludgeoning last thoughts 

My sanity disabled

Mind swells with addiction.

She wants to push me out,

she has come to stay now.

I know her tricks, dirty

Razor - my souls wrists.

Soon I will be gone.

She's been here many times...

Sickly Ana.

Demon child.

Is me.

Voices.

...and they come and go in melancholic whispers, causing my aching membrane to reverberate intermittently. Shallow, cold and empty, those voices wile themselves deftly around my outer core - bitterly searching for an entrance; a weakness...

A second devoid of control enables the hinged door of sanity to reluctantly open, and, without a hesitant or brief nanosecond, and, with a mocking laugh they slide in leaving a trail of compulsiveness to putrefy and ferment. Their poisoned voices are lying stealthy vixens, which now they reside in my mind, sharp stained yellow and teal. The grey matter is dense and they become glued, fixated upon the minds crevices, clawing and scratching with gnarling hisses - no trace of DNA for they are mutations of something far beyond the realms of the human psyche....to be continued.

Nature's Innocence

And if I asked you now to take this cork,

From out my throat,

Unscrew my mouth.

And pour the red lies of deceit,

Idly from your stained mind,

Free to flow.

You would answer but not hesitate,

And now, you would have already stamped,

My innocence.

With you gnarling cursed tongue,

Marveling at your potent lies,

  Volatile roots drunken.

A wilting Sunflower prays to Mother Earth,

To pull her limb by degraded limb,

  Expel her black bugged stem.

Push her weeded hair beneath the soil,

Where earthen lies lay shrouded,

 Layer upon unknowing layer. 

  

Why I Don't Think

I used to try and think.

Believing the words printed,

The click tapping of the typewriter,

Vowels appearing as windswept leaves,

Then drifting, blown across the minds page.

I believed, hoped, these glimpses of thought,

Would transfer. Psychosomatically, they did.

And then I knew that was all they were,

Letters swinging in a playground,

Laughing and dancing infinitely,

As only imagination allows.

Not sweeping the chaste paper

With a moonlit gown and glass skates upon the ice,

Holding the gaze, his hand, pulling your words asunder.

Thoughts dissolving beneath pirouettes,

Gliding upon the rink of extinction.

I want to hold onto them.

Push the magnetic alphabetic back onto my fridge,

Jumbled colours, red, yellow, blurred arrangements,

Dysfunctional, rhythmically they beat,

Phonetic they read.

Tweezered from a clouding mind,

Eked from the souls window,

Clinging tightly, grimacing concentration.

Fiercely, one hand and then the other,

Gripping onto life's silken web,

Upside down tightrope.

Suspended.

And the fraying wire snaps, 

Its wings unable to capture that thought in mid-flight.

Connection lost.

Caught again in my minds matrix.

I am dislocated and then I realise.

Now I know why I don't even begin to try.

Sleep

 

So sleep, my angel, a breath from your pain,

Dream beyond your mortality,

Close your eyes of innocence.

Open, bleak and tarred thoughts.

Asleep, leave behind sick reality.

                                    Nullified being.

Twisting in your pain, incomprehensible,

To one so young, perfect,

Sleep.

If you will ever cry,

The first tear will ask,

Why me?

And my cradle shall sway,

Empty of an answer, my baby,

And hours of black,

Shall be coloured in sleep.

Sink, dream from beneath memories.

The pain languishes within you,

Indescribable to a lost future.

Close your souls windows, sweet

Shut out the fiendish noise,

Meaningless to so many,

Sleep.

And I shall weep, when will it stop?

And innocent beings freed.

One day there will be an end,

And I shall pray and,

Caress your hearts slowing beat,

One, two…one…two…

My lips will moisten yours, blue,

And I shall whisper a lullaby,

Only you will hear, before you enter

A world of magical beauty.

Sleep.

Those tender words shall take you,

Into the clouds of heaven,

And my words, baby, my only child,

Will take my soul forever with yours.

My words daughter, my love,

Shall be these,

Be at peace.

The memory of one so young,

Will live in their conscience forever.

Now you can rest and dream away the dark,

Sleep my baby,

Sleep.

 

Mirrored

For an instant, a single cell of time, which to an other being may be called a second when defined within the dimensions of normality, a heartbeat, the time it takes to diverge from one thought to another insignificant, transient thought, the time it takes for a single tear to fall from a harpsichords eye; for that moment is an eternity of loneliness and so shall be the next, and the next, empty, fallen again and repeated yet with insurmountable time passing back and forth between ticks and i am still here, numb. 

I begin to undress and slide the straps over my emaciated bones, which for as much as i endeavor to see them as striking objects of wonderment, to the One inside they are grotesque, narcissistic, barbaric representations of the inadequacy of my true being, for they are a steel cage containing my dying lion. i have chosen their material, their shape refined as a conscious choice, but as i look at my naked torso now, i want to tear them away, let my organs  and skin live apart, let the One within satisfy his thirst and need to hear fully, gain knowledge without being stifled by decaying fragments of brittle bone. He does not want to be sculpted or meander from the truth outside, he does not want to have a veil between power and denial, he should not have to claw his way treacherously up and through the intricacies and orifices of my exterior - simply to hear life and for them to hear his scream.

I unbutton my suffocating jeans and with relief they fall (more easily than i had thought) but that is because they have wanted to leave me and escape for a long time now, too long, but my self-obsessive exterior would not allow my realness, my naked flesh reveal itself, for it is an embarrassment, a harsh realisation, which would merely offend another, as it does I - the owner and consumer of the ever-growing flesh. Staring, unable to move my eyes from the sight before me, the reflection of nothing, a true yet obscure concept. I see the lampshade behind me, the decaying wallpaper and the watch laying discarded to the back of the shelf, for i have chosen to exit reality, leave the so-called real-time of time and just look, and try to see the person i know least in the world - me. This is neither a new experience neither is is refreshing, it is definitely the last. I want to forget time but as instinctually as i cannot believe it, my eye has succumbed and my brain is trying to block it out, forming a cement barrier of words, 'Stop, nothing, failure, exit, never, NO'. But yet i am weaker, weak, weaker and i cant help but look at the watch and see the time, a moment has passed and that is all, but a moment to one maybe a day to another and perhaps it has been a day since i began to stare into this mirror but He still hasn't taken his egotistical armory off and joined me and held my hand and told me everything is going to be alright.

So, i take an inch of a tepid step closer, my skull (necessary but unwanted) jars briefly upon the mirror and the mirrors' portrayal of my face mimics me, it scowls, frowns and then laughs hysterically, manically in my face. The sheer audacity of the laughing mirror makes him rise from within my pulsing veins, it chews on my oesophagus and breathing its fire, it rises quicker and faster it intoxicates and burns until i feel its' dragon's claw grasp my tonsils and His waves of vomit throws itself from my vulnerable interior to the masochistic mirrored exterior. My stomach's contents have been released and lay before my dripping, so that now i am looking at an abstract face, it isn't me but when has it ever been? It sickens me but I am not there yet, i am not naked as i still wear my iron mask, a camouflage to the world, a comforting device which i have implemented to protect myself, though it is hypocritical as all i want is to be released from this straight-jacket of make-up, spread thickly upon my rancid skin, its lingering stench of cosmopolitan demain etches and i want it off, OFF. And, i begin rubbing and wiping but it isn't good enough, it bares no significance to Him inside but i don't care, this is for me now and blood is drawn as my nails embed and claw erratically at my now animated face, He is amused. Though, i am still here, i can still see my face and i am writhing. Time has stopped again, now there is no time. I am nearing the end of my journey as the kerosene eats my stomach and purges on the acids, the burning raw flesh, it is beyond control now and He is mocking me, crudely, and i am killing me and as i light the match i take one more look into the mirror, the flickering match burns my fingers nails and as i touch the agonising flame to my shattered limbs; i see myself wholly, properly for the first time. I look different, serene, beautiful and with everlasting relief i know i don't have to try anymore for with one more tick of the watch, i see the One seep out of me like a stained soul and i finally i have found the being within. Another moment need never pass.