Balance, words

when ever you get to the point where you can not take another fucking second of this


this unyielding and terrifying nothingness, oblique and carved from obsidian, sharp enough to cut an electron yet in the hands of an angry three year old

take shelter in me

an angel fell, hurtling like a meteor, straight down through the aether, from plane to plain in pain through rain, tattered feathers falling, beaten battered broken 

a husk, a shell, frail, brittle, hollow bones and born without sin, thrust into a world of fire and sweltering pride, gluttony and lust worn as badges, where the thin line between consent and descent is a scribbled crayon line down the center of a glob of silly putty

petulant baby and ignoble shadow puppet

craven currs and holocaust caricatures, striped pajamas and pirates sailing the seven seas in search of treasure, farther from home searching for the edge of the world

searching for the one thing they can never have, fulfillment and sense of purpose, a place to hang their weary heads that the bottom won’t fall out from, a stage a plague the near constant refrain of dying swallows and squawking parrots

corpse paint and delicate hands

loving glances from the bovine blowhards and telemarketers trying to desperately refinance and repackage and readjust and reaffirm and whittle every last bit of sanity until it looks like a slightly smaller image of the same damned stick

and I need a little fucking quiet and a lot of fucking love and I have them in opposite amounts and god damn it someone needs to pick up the pace if we are ever going to get to the fucking fair in time

if we are ever going to reach the ferry in time

the bridge is raising and we need to hit the gas to make the jump, it seems so slow and the acceleration matches, that feeling as the car becomes airborne, closed eyes and clutched hands, a silent prayer to the deaf mute father

take shelter in me, let my broken bones make up your house, my heart can be the furnace, my mind will wrap you tight in a loving embrace

a shack made of paper thin skin and decorated with sarcasm and sex, barely restrained and in dire need of a good stretch

coiled muscles ready to pounce and shred and tear, stronger than it looks weaker than possible, deep as thought and empty as a dream

this is what he has to offer as the plummet turns fatal, as the wings burn from his back and a small scar forms on his stomach, he has nothing and everything within his hands and both hold their own allure

both hold their own allure, whisper dark truths and vapid illusions in equal measure

sucking you in and spitting you out

a sphincter, a crevice, an ancient device for discerning the absolute probability of unpossible analytical conversions of light and dark

of grays and browns and flesh toned flowers, hairy and festooned with baubles and myrrh and a dab of frankincense

open arms and closed off hearts

babbling like a brook and frolicking through the dandelions like a rabbit on meth

heart beat keeps the beat but the timing is off, the signatures off half a step and transcends the norm to become something new and abandoned

it all goes full circle and it is me in a field with a guitar I cannot play and words I do not know how to say yet I have to sing them to a crowd already bored and fed up with the mediocre service

haughty and spoiled, expectant and remorse, so over everything and now it seems that pain is the only real truth

I strum the strings and they bare teeth at one another, i mumble the words and they begin to take out blades, I sing and they stab and tear and rip and rend and it is like being beaten with a whiffle ball bat, it should be more but it is just an echo

just an echo

an echo


veni vidi vici my pets

there is no shelter in me

just a folk tale told around campfires to scare girls into making mistakes, a story that is told after too many drinks and the absurdity of it all comes crashing down

an unopened bloom in a vase, slight hints of purple showing at the end, gentle coaxing to make it slowly peel apart like labia, heart wrenching lies to see what waits inside

stunted and incapable of being more

but dreaming

never ending like the words that continue to spew, the tears that continue to flow, the disdain that seems to always grow

a truth that becomes more and more the center of the galaxy, an indifferent sun to feed the reality of this intangible existence

the unloving eyes of a mother

take shelter from me

take it all in pieces or pull up and load it all onto a flat bed and drop it at the dump, hide yourself from the coming reign of destruction, the super tornado of human suffering, misery given shape, hope given succor, dreams given death, love given to the vine to whither and die 

just take something, my hands are out and it is all for you

say your peace and go but take a memento, as a warning, remembrance of what could have should have would have been in a world that is not shit, that allows growth and strength

half a heart, a reasonably working replication of a spleen and a pockmarked liver that has never lived just subsided in the depths of my guts

take them and go, a wink and a nod and a how’s your mother

dying, thank you

this destruction is only capable in equal proportion to love, there must be a balance

there must be an end

close enough

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