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In tears was the evening to drink his evening dew. As fickle hope had garnished with the salty rocks that covered his heart as night was due. His reddened eyes burned heat with cold that never in rays could never mount a silent scorn. In he how wept was clouded by the life he had as though reborn. With music echoing lyrics whom he can relate; shadows in the light whispered his name, recalling his past from here to now. Like fire shall memory consume him. In past it was only ashes that could ever feed his sighs. Despite twenty hours with nought to eat, would swallow his own spit with the shame that brought him in the doorstep of despair.

He could not hold his breath for even a second. Every pant issued streams that poured into the floor. Dropped. Breath. Done. He was everywhere. He threw himself onto the floor and suffered alone. In loneliness his world was slowly decaying. And when he looked up to the darkening sky, he saw the stars beckoning him there. The moon nowhere to be found was tucked beneath clouds that they’ll crush to feel the air compressed into a fold that stabs his heart with a strike to remember. Let this he shall remember: a suffering unfinished.

Still his solemn tunes play, again and again; it was he who picked himself up to hang himself by soiled hands. In heaps of anger was his phone that took the blame for cracks and scratch in every part. Asunder was that he threw; in this he blew; of thought he scorned. Then called to him my presence when all logic would escape him just for my entrance to ease him further for the path of rites into the new world beyond the rational.

And as he prepared me in a heap of white on white that waits and waits for the objective of peace in the name of happiness begets him for little longer whilst his help was on its way. And as he snorted I entered through the membranes and crawled through flesh, tissue to blood, brain. I will blow away the sadness that overwhelms you. I will banish the darkest cloud that rains through your eyes. As I can see through you how much you cry, thy endless supply of tears and sweat are known to the cells that work in long shifts to keep your life.

The amount of serotonin your brain absorbs is all too much; like a sponge it soaks up everything to the point you have none for yourself. Never mind, I shall touch the mind and cease the brain from within to show you the way. What use is logic when logic can not rationalise itself? This leftmost part of the brain benefits most from me, for that I shall numb it. There’s no need to think about it all; leave it be.

Hearing the cries and weeps does not slow my pace in reaching you. Give me time, I shall be there with you. Let the creative brain blossom; it is the one that can show you an angle you never thought had. But maybe all you needed was love. There, this lullaby begins. Silence. Crushed. Dark. All the senses dulled. Touch how numb. Tears soon deplete. Like a floating gravestone in the foggy river that thunders through the belly of the deathly lake: am I not the dolphin to heave you through the wastes of life to land ashore that I shall ease all pain you have. With every second passing, there an inch of thy mind hence opens.

You see yourself wandering through the absence of the mind I arrest in security of the life you deserve. You linger through the very instinct that your left brain has sought to possess; the abstraction of the abstract. Here, green is not just green; it becomes the leaves you touch. Here, blue is not just your self; it becomes the ocean that you struggle to swim through. Here, red is not just thy blood; it is the essence upon which every second counts.

The hours walk as shadows lit by light and dimmed by night through the moon that sinks into the arms of the night as my worthy companion in whom I invest myself for no return nor dividend to esteem; he is resting on the bed in the dark. Pay no heed to him. For all sorts I have gathered had happened. All at fraternity’s expense: a friend to ravage him but in vain attempt; from a potential lover to a vanishing spectre in the heat of dust in his wake. The invitation he never got for another’s birthday. But maybe he was destined to be alone; no it wasn’t.

All the worlds fall and rise again. Like phoenix, whatever happens today whether you overdosed now or yet, I shall make certain you live tomorrow, and the sun to rise by your side the next. Sleep now, as I leave you here for the night. I will not be here again, but remember my words of comfort that I express through the abscess thy mind preserves in detailed respite that I could never heal. It is up to you to heal, but there will always be the one to pick you up in order to throw you down again. But when you are stronger, your height of fall shall minimise, and there I shall be at the very bottom to catch you again when all lights life offers have soon gone out. Where all hope that you know exists are all but soon erased.

Named

I gain an aspect of humanity and drop it into the ocean. Once the seas are formed, then the land will appear. Once the land appears, so shall the truth begin. Whence known it shall find its place in the heart of history; who knew that breath that once took pace. At last they walk and then knew not their fate. At once they fought and breathed not good faith. I shall crush them in the tears of mine disgraced that conjure wild and storm them through. My word as good as fauna; my hand little but soft too gained. For’t were banished souls and cry the signs of light deepen the songs of woe – a distant cry heard in the softest blue as marble shine, this merry dark, this rock of beast in the widest black. Read More

One Sitting

For a moment I’m somewhere else; the rest falls away. To unwind, this place is my mind’s gathering. I enjoy the silence more; everything goes away. It’s not the paintings I end up looking at; it’s myself. Like mirrors, I think where I should go. If I could, I’d walk through the paintings. Take me distant far from here, away from the rest of society into thy own. For a split second, mine eyes were slow but gazed short the passing of time. Then I wander through the halls, and then I’m away from all. Read More

Wholesome Path

Across the room there were no curtains, not even a door. There were no lights, no windows, no bed nor a chair. Within the room there was the world that produced the world she bears. Who stands before a mirror how numb she is. More the world outside the mirror was still and void; more the world outside the room was so dark and cold. Here before the mirror visions of pain and remorse seeped through the walls that no flower could never grow. A salty sea would wash her away into the essence of that so painful. To and fro the seas descend into the room and traverse her into the most painful – no light to light her past for all to see, only to feel.

This mirror ere bespoke still stands, however long the waves crash, however strong the winds will tear her away. She still lives, still to see her walking through the waves. Every memory passes through each wave and shifts through day and night, not that it would matter where she was; no one would hear her; no one would see her. These memories that come to life with each breath, that with each breath her scars return; however mortal she is, her memories will remain immortal. Read More

Lonely Fighter

And he shall find no peace in him; in envy of life and the world was he who could only fight. So once is walked that never brought him nearer to stare. Where gone is he in the creases that fold him through and again from within. Sees not, nor sees bigger; his eyes are slowly in ash. Does not bid others farewell, as is his bidding is not to fare them well. Then within the cloak of night is all but seen though never himself does never forsee. Neither rest nor sleep give him due; for all’s need was never sought. Never, never, and never saw back and brought himself again to see the day, only night; he endures the night in spite of light. Despite light, he only travels during the dark.

Then he’s fighting; then he’s looking round in the dark for the perfect opponent to try. Then he’s looking round for the opponent hidden from him is he himself. So be it; and he’s still wandering for a distant fight ahead. Where is he now? Somehow lost in the midst of the Universe and still looks to fight, whether bare or no.

But long after is all but not, where found is he in his way by a drive not far from whence he came is gone but for short so dark to tell; so dark to tell the road ahead is what he knew. The road done ahead and the road behind long is gone crosses him by the paths that met his way towards the unending lights that guide him through the highways the path only lost. Neither map nor a near satelite may pass him as guide; only the moon, only the moon. The moon that wanders through the dark is he that shook him with bumps that curdle his skin as he drives through the several fields and distant trees that bode him at peace in nature and soitude within the night.

Alas, my friend; he has gone to those parts and never to us return. What lit above is sure as night as sunk below him is heart as heavy what iron lay to ground him beneath the Earth sweeping away the stones he carries before the dark boding as long as he breathes. So long is the anger within much the anger around as soon his only satelite is covered as much his eyes that deign the darkness in deep despair where naught is that which moves him into the wettest recesses of nature where dark and long are the steps to tread ridden with the chill of heat and frozen spikes that descend upon him so well.

Whomever he sought is now the same that bites his flesh by tooth and needle sapping his blood by salty tears. Whatever he is slowly succumbed to substance that soon overtook him. Whenever it is near so shall he be near by that which sunk low beneath. Wherever is loneliness is all the more place long he reigns. Why he destroys himself before his destruction ere what creation made is undone as much destruction he has uttered. How beautiful is the comedy of this man that dares leave his own for another to prove to them he’s the man to be the man he never was nor never will be. Might venom poison my words than more the poison ye drink of that sullen voice you gasp as hawkish every drop is raised and slammed. If be that, then neither is it then and there what I can never blame on ye than myself; for the strongest people are also the weakest.

If you let me I will be the hell that soothes the hell that sends you far. No, I will ride to find you at the precipice of your own adventure. Thy sport being bought for all but not; some trinket that you hold is but cheaper than the heart you wield. Why do you betray my grave by doing this? Read the words I write; my hands shiver from the rain and cold. I await for redemption. Would I dig deep to uncover emptiness inside?

Who arrests me but love and chains me from afar towards the source my destination allows; this sight longing for brutish hollow. I will walk; I will sleep; I will engage; I will run through wind and water to the end that shines me a beauty no rose can sing. Whether cold or not, is but ridden through the heat that ferments my love in blood sweetened by a haze to seek you far where never I bought myself in clouds rising. This lonely path but a queue to the grave; he’s going, going.

Here in wait, there’s a captive here who marks me me; I am that. This neck of mine by that squeals for your name is by empty voice where tears that Nature weeps is destroying me. I would just stop and crash, but this fighter is calling me near. He’s fighting another; he’s going down almost gone, but I’m not done. This ride I’m making is for you; this walk to the distant yond is asking for my back to turn. I go on, there’s a man waiting.

I present unto Nature you and you who look back at me with eyes filled with poison as much myself am so filled with. These guys that once torment me now torment you too. There’s a way inside, there’s a whisper within and shouts through thunder and rain that it breathes through the air and howls its way through the flesh. You look and realise I’m there; let’s go home.

Before leaving was it not that it took effect and who by thorns had grabbed and succumbed me so far down the darkness there was no thought to hide from that darkness. Tossed and turned was I and balled around under the eyes of war that bounty is heart whose heart was not the blood that stained this very heart to drop beneath the ground and look above. Whilst you only in fear were in gaze and fended them off; my peace was made. My heart was made and unmade, it was the last drop that made me rise again. It was you that made me rise again.

If you love me, wait a while and stop your car. My breath is almost spent from running. Thine, thy my breath, and so, but I – I cannot walk for more. Give me an hour for a while. Oh time, whose seconds are but mine hours gone. My love, I am here. There’s risen. Never box thy heart into submission, give me to keep. I’m here within the hours of wait for minutes spent in cold. How my steps are wettened in mud and concrete. Think of all of us, none alone. A cold metal engine inside that echoes through the wild; the road so narrow; the rain so, so loud. Is suddenly hearing me the distant call, miles from a distant echo is he who waits in patience.

As I open the door and sit by your left, I beget myself the sudden world that within this metal had now been changed; the world outside irrelevant, the right way blurred and lost. Tears that ran down me had covered me; though not weeping and no moaning. Utter silence. Silence. Silence. Silence grew the day is but moon that haunts the nightish sky in bore of the dark and mute. Whose breath I can only hear; whose eyes I can only see. Where I look down at the gear, but neutral. Is but neutral, but neither are we. Sudden is my heart that fasts itself within the seat; angles me forward. Is but all too the same as you. What memories had, all flowing through me. Is but I who fades away. Done is the past and gone is the present. A car that breaks silence is but your head that leads the way so am I to follow. Is but silent as we drive towards a distant shadow that haunts my name where by streetlight is a road that moves us towards a future unclear.

 

An hour for a day

Still as the night brewing,
Is more the night so still,
Shall stop my clock another,
My heart is singing for night,
More night for an hour;
More the night an hour eternal,
Bring the nightingale from rest
Where brings me soothing tales,
Long listened and hence soothed,
An hour, just an hour for a day,
Is all that asks time for once,
Just the day to form mine hour,

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Ghost in the Mirror

I looked in the mirror and saw myself fading away. A darkening sphere clouded me and I left the bay. The sudden moon that lighted upon me slowly stopped. The light that once lifted me into the Earth was slowly moving. I breathed a vacuum to exhale the nether; I sung the words that silently moved me to a stationary point between heaven and hearth. My path to a sight that I could never reveal had shunned me into a mind filled with abyss and quiet. We moved along a sphere and still find ourselves back where I started in the same soil and Earth that surrounds me these trees that scrutinise. As I step into the long way ahead to a sight unclear as to what matter lay before me, I stopped. Somehow I found myself wandering through the dark looking utterly at the window where the forest planted itself another. Read More