Poetry

These eyes that drown

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The ocean-blue of my eyes are a playground

or a death wish fulfilled.

My soul pours out as a waterfall,

splashing cold, sobering torrents of surface tension

into the warm, still air,

disrupting the peace of  inanimate nature.

Come swim inside of me,

float around until the storm comes,

and then flail in the tidal waves of my consuming hatred

in an attempt to survive and maybe find your way home.

Nobody ever makes it home whole again,

my soul weakens those it does not kill,

and most with mortal wounds as my Spawn always hungers.

I always eat,

always consume,

always am.

You will feel the warm injection of my embrace,

the heat crawls down the back of your neck like the first hit of a

steaming hot shower

launching  pain into your nerves that you tell your soul will soon be fine.

Your soul will stop squirming soon

and it is too late anyways,

as you will crawl home or we will die together,

rotting,

decaying,

returning to our choiceless, freedomless nature.

Behind the glass wall of my eyes is a killing field

many have fallen into it

and I feast on souls.

ugly poem for an ugly time

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Your eyes were still

drowning

in your completely average face

with your pedestrian, modified, hair,

and only a paragraph this ugly could describe you.

 

Fleet of heart, passion and loyalty,

void of meaning,

and as rudderless as a lifeboat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,

you are.

 

These painful, broken, cumbersome sentences

strung together like memories from all your nights before,

could not accumulate any meaning  or shared worth,

just like your life.

 

The last goodbye was as real as the two of us,

because it never happened.

 

Sometimes the universe winks at me.

The sky as shared experience

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I watched the purple clouds barrel over
The outlying hills that crowned St. John’s
And knew at least hundred
Maybe thousands
Of others were watching too.

The sky was something we had in common,
every soul on the Earth,
We could always look above at it for direction
Even if we didn’t believe in the omnipotent.

The sky was something special on the coast
Because we watched it tears clouds out of the sky
Like steroid-crazed bouncers making impressions
On too-young, too-drunk or too-stupid girls, and the wind impressed us all the same way.

drowning in the glow of a new dawn

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A brand new dawn is always clouded,

almost by its own optimism

if not by the optimism of the others.

 

Every dawn brings a promise with it,

a promise it could never hope to keep,

and the weight of expectation bloods it.

 

Success is impossible in the red glow,

and we crush ourselves upon its cliffs

trying to cling to the first ground we can

before the waves of water end us.

 

We floated in barrels like Tolkien’s dwarves,

occasionally choking on the water,

but not quite drowning from the trip,

but something changed in us from it.

Boredom and sand castles

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I can feel every second passing like chunks of sand
Falling away from my beach-side castle,
And rejoining the inanimate that we once breathed into being.

The clock slashes away one second at a time
Like it were counting filthy coins into paper rolls
And something in me takes each tick like the
Smiling end of a razor blade come home to play.

I remember feeling awake sometime before these
transmuted nightmares became dreams of someone else’s’ design.

Now only the numb minutes remain,
The hours we could never kill
And that drown us as we choked for more life
Only to taste more boredom.

Liquid People

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The people pour themselves into imagined containers
Of who they believe themselves to be,
But every construct has its holes and we never see the truth.

We keep leaking out of personalities
And building new stories to catch our watered souls
Until we finally run out of our liquids.

No fountain of youth restores the waters of life
And we excrete ourselves through our sweat cum blood saliva
Until we have nothing else to let out.

The clay people dry up fastest,
Even though time with them feels longest,
With their terracotta personalities –
Inflexible, choking and stagnant –
And those who become the tides of change
Live fastest and best.

Floating ideas

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The thoughts pour our of my brain
And steam through the open air,
All on the tip of my tongue but never captured.

I reach out a searching, slender finger
An attempt to capture or excite them onto the paper
Or at worst, grab them around the neck and wrestle them onto the page.

Boredom burns in me like a smouldering pile of ashes,
Useless and existing but nothing else,
I have no use for it except that it disgusts me
And maybe that toxic reaction pushes me on.

A month of goodbyes

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A month was no time at all

and all I had left here,

it was a month to cram two years of life

into a final month of saying temporary goodbyes.

 

Every goodbye should be temporary,

but there is no heaven

and I would even take a hell to say

one last goodbye to some.

 

We continue after death,

but are no longer human and we

no longer matter.

 

Live now,

live well.

The eyes of a moment

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I stared into it.

I saw the white stars
Fuzzy at their distant edges,
Wet streets and dark-grey sidewalks
And the damp grass starving in the darkness
With snow peppering the fields.

The wind shook the foundations of the world
And we felt everything teetering around us without
Feeling the effects of being on a rock hurtling through space.

We pay attention to the details
Without understanding the big picture,
we complain about the dollars spent on gas
But barely notice the air getting thicker and worse.

I notice how the moonlight plays in your hair,
Hinting at your angelic nature,
But won’t put together the obvious.

The stars and you

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Your white dress gripped your body
like melting snow hugged the sidewalks
And the feelings of the night invaded
Everyone lucky enough to see you.

You had matching heels on and
You didn’t get to wear them often.

The moon and stars are always beautiful
But they were playing second fiddle for the night
And they could have exploded without
Me noticing.

There was a warmth about you that made
Any thoughts of cold unthinkable
And unfeelable,
But maybe that was from sensory overload.

You dominated the night without trying
And I imagine even the sun
-hidden underneath the world and our feet-
Was jealous or in love.

We walked wet streets
Grass peaking out
And drunk kids wandering by,
even the most beautiful of them
Must have felt like old rotting hags.

Big, endless eyes beamed your soul
Into my baby blues and we smiled often
There is no description for when
Souls collide and caress another,
But we felt ours coming alive.

Life is mostly colourless,
Often blurry and fuzzy,
But the right mix of inner and outer beauty
Is never out of focus or the colour of life.

You radiated colour
Love
Life,
And I hope the world doesn’t consume you.