slenderblade

you slipped away from me as time slips away and i would chase after you- occasionally you would turn to face me in your radiance but your silence has used me and now you return to embrace me yet warmth does not fill my chest i no longer know who you are

guilt guillotine the head of emotion falls and splashes hard against the ground tar-belching fumes pour from the blood spatter the sun is red and dim and it is night flitting faeries swing ball and chain scythes and smiles and glowing eyes red and black, the pit and your bloodstained hands crawling shadows furl and unfurl and your snarl is as doom-filled as ever death is your cloak the shifting images in my mind pull me into this montage of ideas and yet again i cannot focus but the words are marching out of me like an army of cacophony and a battalion of demons fly overhead zipping past: black lines under the falling planets the groun

high school teachers fawn over the grand structure of poets one-hundred years deceased and we smile, one hundred years dead, preying on the minds of instructors centuries past our gravestones

like the sun so we burn away our sorrows loves like the midnight hour just a shadow of tomorrow's brilliant despair

pouring coffee on top and putting whipped cream on the top best for cold autumn mornings in high altitudes with pine trees. *nod nod* and the ground is hard and brown, and the brown pine needles crinkle and roll under your shoes everything crisp on the outside everything warm on the inside the air is clear, not just to your eyes but to your nose your lungs you breathe in and are filled with a single moment a memory made of muscles and lungs and rosy cheeks and a colorful scarf

slowly my decline reveals itself to me where it comes from and where I've been and it all makes sense my passion, my poetry all a protest against the red shift of reality and the reality of the red shift and as I found that I could not stop it, no, as I found it could not be stopped, I fell into unhealthy acceptance and no longer did poetry hold its place protestant for me it has lost its healing properties and now is just a place to go when I have an observation to publicize while I'm on my journey to the end and may my life choices hasten the day of my final ruin for now I have no ruth and while I love you and know I would be missed I

we see shooting stars for less than moments yet we complain about the sun bless the claws of hell

trees fall when you look my way they crack and tumble the resulting dust is your cloak we simple few

life has its way of gently caressing your cheek with a high powered conveyor belt made of cheese graters and when you're whittled down to your gums do you wonder if it's for the best? no one will truly be your savior so stop abandoning your friends in an effort to escape yourself you're looking the wrong way in the mirror and even if it's just barely, you miss a direct stare against the eyes of yourself in the true reality.