No stains / no significant markings / I can still trace your subtle patterns / the split toungue spitting acid / a venom from a heart too young / a surgical instrument masked as caring / kindness and open arms / madness in a bucket / overflowing delusions / pink champagne / no ice
Not long ago I mulled a submission, an attempt to once again serve a higher purpose, to find a place where I could shine, to contribute to the world around, in co-creation bleed my day away & nights of torment to follow dread.
Not long ago I mulled a submission, back when the doors were still wide open.
Not long ago I mulled the sale of my fixed abode, an attempt to find a way out of the maze that had taken hold, a way to once again set me free, to leave the memories behind, to walk down new roads paved with the unknowns of futures untold.
Not long ago I mulled the sale of my fixed abode, back when there were people working & willing to make such purchases.
Not long ago everything seemed possible, not anymore – my dear – not anymore, the future me will find the roads ablaze with the raging crowds of yesteryears, with the wanting and the searching, the hungry and the weary, not knowing what to do or where to find the safety needed to keep going, until the day of Reckoning & the final bill – outstanding
ejected from the serpent’s
lair,
I scouer the stars for signs of
life,
sustenance an absentee at the
core of self & weary heads need a
rest,
upon the shoulders of giants
a clown-face smiles:
at the pork scratchings
left on yesterday’s
plates;
on empty tables at
Inns now deserted and
bleak,
I scouer the stars for signs of life &
meaning,
hope my first abandonment;
the clown’s smile never
waning
The flashbacks,
sinusoidally like snakes
my dearest friends,
lack proper context as they
present themselves,
as they show me events: for real for sure,
I worry they might be; to a degree – true,
I fold my gaze inwards
onwards and downwards,
spiraling mindlessly into the
shards of broken glass,
I bury my unshaven face deep
head first
in the quicksands
of my mind,
wanting flashbacks of love
but none is coming
I did not fall
far from the tree,
I did not fall
far at all,
but if had
these broken bones of mine
would still be me,
I would still be your
broken dream,
& only you could have
caught me,
only you could have
made the difference; then,
but you also fell
close to your tree,
& you fell much further
than I did,
crushing most of
the sanity & sentiment
of good parenting and
Motherhood
,
I did not fall
far from the tree,
I fell and here I
will remain,
the broken bones &
broken dreams
we share
in silence
without my daemons – ohne Dämonen / what would I be / without the hauntings / what would I feel / without asking questions / would I exist / without question marks / will you answer me
I used to wear a skin, an
Armoured suite to keep
You at bay; at a distance
Not quite out of sight, just
Far enough & fair enough
I should have told you this
Secret; secrets we keep
Alone are the ones that
Kill us; eventually
White clouds
I am no prophet
White clouds
Nor do I carry faith in prayer
White clouds
Through foresight I am blessed
White clouds
Without factories & planes droning
White clouds
Without their darkness pluming
White clouds
I see only white clouds
White clouds
I see only blue skies
White clouds
I see a better place
White clouds
A world recovered
White clouds
I see a future again
White clouds
Though I am no prophet
White clouds
Nor carry faith in prayer
White clouds
I am blessed
White clouds
Blessed to be me
White clouds
& in the blue skies up ahead
On white clouds bouncing
I am in truth
Without concern
I am dedicating my first book to a fictional character and to a lady I have never met. I find this world surreal. Like a virus spreading. I keep my hope alive, sighing.
You called me a broken record / no response: a silent agreement / what hope is there for us: corrupt digital entities / remastering required / to hide the tears & checksum eerre0r
