Deceive yourself with broken fragments Enraptured images and shame, Curdled to create a mirage of self Envied in another’s mirror, death calls Imp souls to the slaughter Vanity, now speaks your name on karma’s Echo, the ripple flows so widely.
This isn’t my pen, someone stole my pencil, My thoughts are caged in empty milk cartons ready to post “wanted” pictures made from trace. Tattered and torn half arsed ink stains I write in vain. The butler stole my tea, gave me toast buttered both sides then dropped me from the greatest height My ego has a pain My heart refuses now to beat My soul, deciding it’s a game, gave up trying to be brave. Reality is a blast bound in kinky, curly leather straps, molecules for the black light and rancid eyes watching, waiting, praying… This isn’t my pen sticky fingers and licking tongues toxify my ink with fugu juice injecting the heart vain, hooked up to the needle dulling, nullifying, I’ve sent her into excile Coventry for lovers abandoned my muse to the dungeons for her crimes but the prissy little bitch, took all my fucking lines… Now my ink is going limp erectile dystunction without the blue pill I’m just another writer stuck between the trees with nothing to say just words to up and kill….
Aside the listless waters of time
reflections fractured now stilled
in stagnant whispers of bleak void
an endless stream of magic borne
wars fought and promises sworn.
I see the contours of my soul on waters edge
Shimmering beneath the debris of existence
Illuminated by my darkest light
It reaches from out the depths of hell
to sooth the speckled witches spell.
But alas, I am neither elemental nor
nor am I sister to Lilith or a soldier of the dammed
I am the waters curve, the rippled playground
as dragonflies dance upon my skin
stealing precious nectar for their King.
I am the reflection the mirrored voice
the distant echo of ancient blood
essence skimming on luna tides
the silent eyes suffocating in vivid blues,
drowning in the scent of knowing truths
I am the fractured, stagnated waters
curdled by minds descent
I am the Illuminated body of tides
empowered for my ascent
I am the lucid astral plane
the love of which you dreamt
I am the reflection, rippled in pain
I am the reflection, I am my pain.
Perhaps it was the way his intent
caressed raw against some deep
forgotten carnal need within her
an implosion of erratic thought
cascading through neurological
pathways igniting live wires
or pheromones waking primal
senses from slaves slumber.
And it begins, central in my forehead the deep pounding that promises storms on the horizon. Skies of peach Melba as a winter sun stretches his fingers through the frozen web of clouds blocking his way, and the throbbing consumes as we are swallowed by the darkening screams, and it beats, pulling, dragging, striking…my eyes beg to close as I am swallowed by the changing air, my eyes beg to close.