Blurred Lines

Scrambled pigmentation,
Puzzle pieces saturated by
dull undertones.
Lost from their proper sets
they try to fit but do not match.
Sweeping chromaticism dancing before opened eyes,
Blurred edges, a drunken haze,
muddy images, elongating tendrils stretching between
as they separate.

Dampened with moldy spores,
an occasional rotational droplet declines
a lone shape to die in solitude.
If only I could see it’s death
to mourn what never was,
but I can’t see
for I’m blinded by my tears.

Facial Deception

Pinecone dust drifting in the open air as dappled skies sigh.
A decrescendo of birdsong
till only silence gapes
at the green and blue below.
Eunoia so distant
evanescence in the passing,
limpid shadows tossed asunder
a blanket for the reflections
upon the inky surface on the water.
Sweetly lochetic predators of the mind lie awake in the loom.
Oscillating above, bat’s swing A pantomime just for me,
the face in the sky.

I watch the face, the contours
the shaded mouth

the clouded eyes.

I watch.

As the wind tugs me gently closer to the edge.

Ethereal Creatures

A mass of writhing limbs
Disjointed, mis­matched,
Eyes without pupils, bodies without skin A pit of the otherworldly monsters Ethereal in their abnormalities.
Slippery floors with red
heat shearing to the core
as visceral delights flail,
trailing long lines of smoke
a stench as rotten as the decomposing secrets in my mind.
Beneath the earth,
atrocities drive gravity away in horror.

Dead bodies rise to life,
holes yawning through their chests.

Come back to live the torture again,
just so their falling teeth and molded jaws could work to form a scream.

Hollow and hoarse their cries ring out slicing through the dirt,
through the patterned Earth,
until two pieces fell away,
and only darkness remained between
The world has become as disjointed,

as ugly as the creatures who raided it’s surface.

Listening

Do you ever cup your hands together,
press your mouth to one end
and just breathe?
Wait as the warmth begins to tingle over stiff joints and frozen fingertips?
Warm what has been waiting since the last communication?
Then do you whisper deadened secrets to the hidden crevice of your palm?
Perhaps you’ve relish long pressed achievements
that have been so long been compressed between two folded pages
like a preserved flower
picked out if it’s bloom?
Or have you kept a fountain of imagination through pictures painted by your hands?
Just maybe though, you have counted out each line upon your hand,
Marking the days till one,
When you finally press your ear against your living flesh,
Just to hear the susurrations of the stratosphere?

Queen of Shadows

She glides through a sea of memories
last gasps tangled in her alabaster robe
the hopeful disintegrate as she passes
the planets shudder on their weak orbits
and try to pull away.

Voiceless souls reach out with gaping mouths
their eyes as dark as the shadows who consume them
while vines of silver creep up their bodies, tugging them closer
until finally they are trapped beneath the vine tangled ground.

The time will come when the Queen of Shadows will pay a visit
and when she parts
only silver-flecked dust shall remain.

Winking

Glinting in waning light,

a gesture for humanity,

lead by the light of lunacy.

A delusion,

irreparable damage

cast over by thousands of oblivion.

From which the souls of those cast out

upon the dirtied street

sing softly to sleeping children.

Lost in their own minds

forgotten by parents.

There stayed forever,

no movement to be found.

Just a piece of metal

that had potential

to be so much more.

Lay for eternity

my blessed,

forever winking

at passersby.

Optics

Sweet iridescent light,

an influx of hues.

Rivulets of silver and gold,

trapped in a stream through your eyes.

A window to your soul,

they always say.

Brimming with the emotion,

of that I was void.

Expression playing across your face,

like light dancing on the wall.

Yet the luminescence from the light above

was dancing no more.

When I look up,

it is not your eyes that greet me now,

but the stony stares of them.

Sticky fingers crimson,

blood splattered across my face.

I am the canvas,

and your blood is the paint.

Scarlet flows like an ocean around me,

bubbling and warm,

a sauna of my very own.

And not a single teardrop rolls,

not a single eye waters more,

as they watch.

A cry like no other,

a torrent of tears.

Yet all the water in the world

would never be enough,

to wash your blood from my hands.

And as I watch,

the alabaster wisps begin to rise.

The emotion is lost,

but my tears are a beacon.

Do not dissipate away,

I whisper,

come live with me.