Synesthesia

it's all like swirls of purple. deep and calming. unviolent. smooth. thick whirls of paint. tired, but at ease. soundless. a nice cool that you're aptly protected from. simple and spherical. just another Wednesday dead.

earlier

With my mid winter's depression in full swing, I come to you driven by erratic desperation and an aged sense of hopelessness. For the first time in years I felt completely sick. Crunching snow under my feet, a slow rhythm to how beyond discouraged my hung head feels.

Thursday, We Won't be Thawed or Together by Then

I don't know. I could write all night. Write it like you'd actually read it. Write it like it's really love. Cause for now it is, you haven't the chance to prove otherwise. But as the barren cold of a modern wasteland cakes the earth with polluted ice I find the silence of your dream, endlessly deep and dark coating the entire reaches of my mind. The black that stretches forever like an endless pour of oil, or a never ending wind of murky, smoke filled water. My steps and expression locked. Battened down and warm, the ice biting at my skin, tearing through the layers, seem but a mere acknowledgment, no longer sensation. I want to take control at this point. Step into you. Pull you from your world and make you permanent in mine. I want your dream to overtake me. To escape another winter in your arms.

Smoke

The tiny space was lightly coated with the smell of stale towels. Standing on a rug that's cushioning was spent long ago, he hung his head back like a free moving hinge. He thought of her and he thought of this. He sat deep and shivered down the days first drink. It hit cold but coarse, half helping the itching in his throat, half doing nothing but coating his teeth with a film of what he gathered as some type of sugary slime. Along with the days first liquids came the days first fire. Something about the contrast interested him along with how unnatural he often thought these, and other actions of himself and others, were. Smoked rolled consistently out of the tip of this quarter smoked cigarette and he could only think about how badly he never wanted to quit. how he loved the feeling. how it matched his sadness. his friend once professed that it was that deep urge to self destruct. to mutilate yourself. something sinister and natural that burned inside us, borderlined with insanity and psychopathology. His mind was taking a turn for the worse again, so he snubbed the smoke and rose away from the pale winter morning's light. Another year's beginning wrought with the idea of an open door. Now that door seems revolving, endlessly squeaking the grease from its hinges, more of a spectacle than an opening.

Evil & The Li(v)es We Built

you creep unto me like a black plague's liquid, slithering with sense and purpose. your hollowness deafens chirps and stills the wind. you rush like a child without sense or care in a world of nails and broken glass. you savor their sting, you ignorant thing and revel in your sense of undirected and distorted pleasure. you're a leech with a conscience. suck while you think and think away their pain. revel in your own. i swear you'd drive me crazy if i weren't so damn set on myself. if you actually mattered.

but as one grows old one sees the ripples of the motions he has made in the water. the way it erodes the shore, grinding so slowly, subtly, but you've stared and seen enough. you notice the pebble's roll and the hole's concaveness. you feel your energy passed through adequately, trivially, cheaply. even ignored and untouched. i feel like a testament of time. my vines burrowing along the river banks changing growing, plaguing. i wonder who i sicken? sicken with hate? sicken with love? if they know how sicken i am with them too.

ripping through the wind

she wore on me like a failure. i saw every let down beaming through her eyes. her skepticism of me poorly shrouded in her politeness. friendly. semi interested. she played my part oh so well. she looked much better doing so as well. refined and proper. i felt held and restricted. eeking glimpses of my inner sefl in and and out and in between my words. her focused off center. made me feel like a formality. merely made me hope to impress her more. she budged not an inch. wrapped me up, took a look, and flung me south. i felt it slip in slow motion. how did i lose power? control? it's usually all mine. the setting? formality? i don't know. it blurred to a fuzz from there. i was so outside of myself, no wonder she thought me uninteresting. i barely knew her and i counldnt stand losing the potential spot in her mind. it drove me mad and as i contemplated this sailing through cool wet air, i suddenly slammed deep into the earth, feeling the ground shutter back against me. it was over. a mix of confusion and pain shot through me as all the failures of my past added megatons of pull to the gravity of never falling in love. never even tasting it again. not even pulling up a vibrant glimpse of its pefect blue pedals and unearthly yellow stem. crashing miles away and just feeling its existence. it wasn't her. but it was. she was hardened. i saw me in her. hopeful but doubtful. she'd been hurt before. badly. and i, well, i don't know why it's hurt me so badly...

ghosts to life

was looking over endless fields. alone, but not by myself. my mind swirled with mists and kissed snapshots. you were there. you always have been. the you and my mind refuses to walk away. but that you has changed. to help me. to turn its cold sharpness a warm caress once again. almost like a hope. i wonder if i can feel you. if it's the real you. if the capacities of my mind are so strong, so keen. why can't they be. why can't our words slice through time and space. land as emotion, purer than dialect, embodied and beckoning. a translation, a hope. you come to me like a ghost. wrapped in hope and fear. cold and distant. lovely and beautiful. out of reach. uncontrollable. inexplicable. brilliantly adorned in you very best beauty. your mouth never moves but your heart does. i wonder if you've been taken over. your face has aged and the way you move,... your voice. your words. you're new

trails

for those of you without a spine i'm tired of you hanging on to mine. walk behind me; i question your committment. ride on me; i question your heart. walk beside me; prove to me i can love again

standing still with the dead

my cold feet hurriedly slap the cool ground. the moon has crested and beams light over acres of ripe harvest. all the fruits of labor. toil. worry. pain. and my back glows with pale light and shaded by husked shadows. the crisp air sinks into my lungs, an icy invasion. pumping in and out of my chest. my muscles burn with acid and my mouth breaks into a smile that explodes across my body like a long forgotten mine. unexpectedly overtaking. it all far behind. i think this is the beauty of control. knowing you escaped the pain cause you lit the match. the infinite game i play against...well... something about beating em to the punch. it's better to have loved and lost as long as you're quite comfortable with losing your damn mind as well. that's all these trees, whipping by, that's all they say. stuck. as fast as i go, my victories are hollow cause my enemy is me and i'm so deeply rooted in myself i can't shake your dirt and my mud free. i'm standing still with the dead.

Could write a summer sun set serenade. worthy of an angel's breath and bellow. the most beautiful combination of words and sounds ever released from the mind of man.