Author name: Hayden Veil

Disintegrated; dis-
Interested in the eastern breeze 
Bringing breaking tulips;
Snow an absent friend;
Blown by cherry blossom dance
A Common Carrier bag swings
From bare branches; buds fear
The new world pain: splitting,
Unfitting until a friendly wink
From the golden eye 
Beseech them to relent, 
To come forth. 

Disintegrated; dis-
Interested in hiding distant pasts
A Common Carrier bag is found
Asleep, crumbling without the whip
From gingerbread men:

Oh! 

How to escape this dreary dream?

Oh! 

How to dream a dairy dream? 
Creamed cows and green clouds. 

Oh?

Dreaming 
To escape
Local shop
Branding,
Painted agony
With sustenance 
For survival
As if lives
Depended on it. 

Disintegrated; the plastic wrapping,
A Common Carrier bag 
Turned container for fragmented,
Distorted, morose memories of 
A distant past; a short serenade
Bleak and cold seen through 
Broken mirrors: the unsorted,
The unflattering realities 
Of a life passé.

Mother always cut my nails
Short,
Tidy Mother said, you must
Look tidy. 

I always cut my nails
Short,
Until one day
I said enough now
Enough.

I let my nails grow
Just beyond 
Short, still tidy though
Unlike Mother’s
Fantasy child.

I let my nails grow
Beyond 
Mother’s 
Vision. 

I let my nails grow
Beyond 
Mother’s 
Wishes. 

Mother always cut my nails,
Cut my spine,
Cut my umbilical cord 
Short.

You wrote about jelly-
Fish, and I fell back into the pond
Of memories, of 5am rowing out
Across the silent lake
Through the haze 
Of last night’s full moon;
And the empty bottles
And the screams
And my hiding 
And the tears
And the sorries;
You wrote about jellyfish
But I drowned 
Beneath their nets,
Suffocated by
Their ignorance;
You wrote about jellyfish
and I fell back into the pond
Of blancmange
and raspberries.

I keep asking myselves
Why this is, why I am yet to find
The sublime, to experience awe
Instead of just endless fear. 

I keep asking myselves 
Why my wings cannot take me 
High and higher skywards
Instead of just burn and chain me. 

I keep asking myselves 
Why I doubt myself, why trust
Is so abundant in others 
And so lacking in a solemn self. 

I keep asking myselves 
My scattered brains 
Of suggestions to resolution
Of means to avoid destitution
But I hear only whispers 
Out of bounds: out of reach. 

So many faces I do follow, so many
Fading pens, so many writing truths
I read not – anything, anymore. 

So many faces lost, silent voices
Under grey skies, perhaps lost
In the infinite stream, or just muted
By pressures, silenced by envy, or
Killed by Death. 

So many times regrets take over
A susceptible mind, we shake
And we shiver, we stop and we stare
Into an abyss so dark and so dreary
We end up calling it home.

Death became our chorus,
A backdrop with faded lights,
The wind that drove the leaf insane
In search for our safer havens;

Death became our comfort blanket,
A backstory in times of dark daze,
The whirlpool to drown our hope 
In exchange for everlasting peace;

Death became our causality,
A back door ajar,
The spilled ink on our pale skin 
In wait for a truer purpose;

Death became our hymn,
A few mumbled words,
The fake truth
Inevitable;

Death became our life,
A few steps at a time,
The lost footing
Incongruous.