Each passes by,

a unit with a separate life,

marching towards a destiny I cannot see.

they follow the golden road

of prosperity

of euphoria

while I drift in the

murky shallows of my tears.


The Gap Between the Willow Branches

The eclipse captured half of the sun

imparting a weak light

to still forms below.

The whispers carried down

among the falling leaves

ensnaring in hair

sticking to the backs of throats

a shower of hope

lost upon the chained bodies

wrapped in roots

and embraced

by the hollow Earth.

Can I forgive you?

Like a horse you trampled my spirit,

your hand stole happiness

and left purple pain.


I tried to pluck some poppies,

but all the pretty flowers

in all the pretty world

couldn’t erase the memories.


Your force stole my strength

till only your words were needed

to make my knees tremble and clack.


I still shiver at the scent

of onions

as I remember the taste

and smell

of your putrid breath

and rotting body.

White Nightdress

Hanging from the floor

with nowhere to go.

White nightdress limp

on broken frame.


Memories singing sweet nightmares

of reality.


Images of white rooms

with white walls

and white doctors

flood the white mind.


They took her in,

the girl –

the rag doll.


They filled her with pills

till giddy delight

was forced upon

an exhausted body.



she remembers.



She was the blackboard

and now she is the chalk.


It rises again.

The torrent of emotion.

Spirits loosed from cracked bottles

dark aromas looking for area to fill –

a chasm to illuminate with terror.


Trapped beneath spider web skin.

It rages on.

Splitting bindings,

diction let loose

that once was

stacked in my mind.


War cries ripping through

silent mind.

They fill the emptiness

that was my brain.


Then there was that

one spark of pain,

lost against the rushing

beneath my exterior.


Time slows.


The emptiness pushes back

and a victor is named.


A pinprick –

and then it’s gone.


The vacancy re-enters,

leaving me to explore

the nonexistent realms

in a restless imagination.


It’s presence was haunting.

That shimmer of silver

always lingering out of full sight

licking the tearstains from worn carpets

and chilling my warm hand.


It slept in the shadows

a figurine to the curious sunlight

but when darkness rose those eyes alit

and above my sleeping frame it would hover

watching as innocence took over my weary face.


It’s smell lingered long after it was gone

like a subtle rosy hue

to color the air

and tickle my lungs.


So cruel of it to leave me

with only the tiniest hint it was ever there

a remainder burnt deep into the pulsing scar

that it once healed with icy touch.


It wasn’t until I realized who it was

that the poison began to call.

For the chance was stolen by my obliviousness

and now she was lost forever

the only one who’d cared –

and now I was determined

to be lost with her.

My Superhero

My superhero rests upon my face,

under my hollowed eyes

below my sunken cheekbones

underneath my red painted nose.


My superhero saves me everyday

casting doubts away

and sending me spiraling

into the world of normalcy.


My superhero defies the laws,

arguing with the other emotions,

contracting deadened muscles

long withered away.


My superhero is the smile

that never cracks,

despite lacing across a fractured viasage.

Never melting,

despite the cascade of thoughts

pressing against my skull.


My superhero is my fake smile,

that never lets my pain be seen.


Numb ustic nerves

fervently burning from the cold

as diminutive lims lath –

pressed onto red linked chain:

listless in the darkness,

placid against a demon’s chest.


Banner of hair flapping

a flag of unbenounced creation

attached to cantankerous body

squandered by salty licks

from writhing tongues below

the relentless blue tugging

exalted by the taste of the

life seeping from fractured skin


As lithe birds shift between cracked ominocity,

a single glow of pallid yellow highlights

the figurine with chiseled jaw

cheeks stained red

fighting alabaster cloths for sight.


Back hunched, a curvature pointing down

string hair hanging – black as her mind

and the nightmares which haunt

her moving frame

are unseen to innocent eyes.


Up above the ocean she swings

sat upon a wooden slab

clinging to metal chains.

Attached to lithe clouds,

her body slowly being washed away

by the hungry white mouths

of the ocean.

Now is the Time

Now is the time

to wrap cold fingers around my own

to stare at the depthless eyes and smile

to thaw icicles lacing a jagged reflection.


Now is the time

to lay on your back and stare up at pastel skies

to imagine cloud impressions passing by

to watch as colored fingers spread the shade.


Now is the time

to listen to cracking laughs of your own

to clutch fragments of dying sanity close

to pretend to be vibrant tessellations of normal.


Now is the time

to wish upon a cosmos

to blow fairydust across desert land

to tuck wilting daisies behind an ear.


Now is the time

to wash in pools of trimmed desires

to sulk between closed pages of stories

to murmur mysteries to grey walls.


Now is the time

to grieve for the days

to sob for the months

to wail for the years

all lost in timeless despair.