The final spin of the Carousel

Determination has taken a vacation
after giving the dog his bone,
reckless abandon was shot from a cannon
only to land in a field alone.
The liquid that dripped from the cup that was tipped
collects in a pool below,
Now who will drink from this tainted sink
where only fungus and mold will grow?
The carousel spins...
...always ending up at the end.
Wishes and dreams are dashed....
....here no one wins
the carousel spins....
....and my last tokens' been cashed.

Wither

I scratch away at the dried past, pulling the dead flakes of disillusionment away from the wiry remains of sanguinity. The darkness spreads from under my eyes, across my face and into my lungs like an army of mindless soldiers following command via telephone. The air dissolves, my skin then crawls, leaving me only with bones of contention.

Ode to Jones

The blistering tongue forming corruption filled phrases, the dead-eyed stare numbing the hundreds of gazes. Pounding fists shaking podiums while raving and ranting, rabid jaw clinching spewing hatred while panting. "Walk with me, I'm the sign of the ancient one's coming, I am the almighty this is why I'm not running. I will make sure you and your children are fed; I will assure you that your enemies will all soon be dead. I am your savior, your true God, your alter; kneel down before me for I shall not falter." Tipping back this cup of liquid I'll follow, as bodies fall down beside me I'll swallow. We drink this dream anonymously blending in with the heard, believing this angel's every smile, every word. Detatched are your eyes disguised behind glass, the darkening perception with each second that pass…. Bliss

I believe in Jones




So do I

Flat

Could it be that I've lost all of my direction?
Or could it be that I've just lost my connection, again?
I've taken all of my false ambition, and now I'm flat.
But I really don't expect you to understand any of that.
It's only when I'm there that I can bear,
all of the shit that you say.
And it's only when I'm numb I won't run,
Not today anyway.
Could it be that I've spent our last dollar?
Or could it be that it's feels too right for me to squander?
I've drained all of our connection now we're flat.
But I really don't expect you to understand any of that.
It's only when I'm there that I can bear,
all of the shit that you say.
And it's only when I'm numb I won't run,
Not today anyway.
Now you implore me to lift myself up beyond my means.
But you're whispering.
And then to push away from this mud that has a hold of me.
But you're still whispering.
It feels like I'm desperately dependant upon what I can't feel.
I can't remember how it feels not to pretend to be happy.

Vapor

I have melted into vapor, and begun counting the drops of my heavy liquid soul as it splinters the picture so carefully drawn out in sidewalk chalk. I slowly gather them all, cradled like broken glass in bleeding hands. My wings have been pulled from my shoulders with claws; my skin will be rationed to feed for this cause. The sick and the weak rely upon me, the poor and the meek that struggle to see, the whispers and screams penetrate dreams leaving echoes of footprints behind my closed eyes. Despite my thick shell, I somehow can tell, that you my love, have never looked so immensely beautiful.

We

I've stripped it away, and dare I say
“all that makes my life whole”.
I feel you close and love you the most;
from the beginning to the end of my soul.
I’m blistered from the mistaken one,
the one who carved me out hollow,
You say the words that sing like the birds,
soft spoken-an effortless follow.
The wound has since healed and now have revealed
You're you, my dancing angel.
I miss the small things hidden behind your wings
things that make life less painful.
I miss your glee, and never will see
that you're the angel that saved me from me,
Now that I’m whole please fill in my soul,
and again make me become we.
I love you…………….

The Predictable End

I stepped out onto the street today; the cool wind enveloped my face and hands. I ask, which direction to go, again you fail to answer. It seems to me that all roads end up at the same destination. Then why bother? I've been down them all, the journey never enjoyable, the path never smooth. All too easy just to turn and walk back in. Resign one's self to silky solitude where all is predictable. Perhaps this time will be different, maybe this time I'll stumble upon an epiphany. Either way, I guess it's the experience that defines us.