Field of dust and despair

In the Drowning

They try to lift their head above water
They can’t.
They are trapped in the salty vat
Of the pacific.
They lift their skull,
Gasping for air.
They are getting pulled,
Towards the darker part.
They are suffering in the light
They will die in the dark
Alone.



A weeping rose

It is bent, it twitches.
What it needs is not enough.
It still weeps.
Given up on itself,
with no hope.
"Take me"
it says,
"Take me."
It's a sad story indeed,
when they no longer believe in themselves.
But we're Optimists,
we'll fight through it.



Untitled

A writer can only have one piece thats "untitled"
it's the patch of the quilt
it does not breach any force
but just shows a little whole.
A little...
block.
Here is my one and only untitled piece
one writes to fill up a page,
yet all the words are there to fill that empty space,
labeled as
"untitled."



Ashes


Look up.
Do you see the dust particles falling from the sky?
Try to catch one on your tongue.
Parachuting down,
settling on one of your taste buds.
The chalky sliver of cooled fire.
Oh look, one has landed upon your shoulder,
just give it a flick.
Watch it flutter down,
you watch it gracefully land.
Though really, it is plummeting to it's death.



Walking a goat

It takes a while, but the collar is finally on. You pull and pull, but nothing works. It simply will remain where it pleases, or so it thinks. Let the animal think that it won, that you have given up, but while it's gloating and cheering because he defeated the human. Then pounce. Get the goat and pull him as far as you can before you officially quit. Well congratulations, you are now done with your first lap, five more to go.


That thing

Stop copying me.
You are nothing but a figment of my imagination.
All I need to do is;
Close my eyes…
Count to three
And open them again.

One
Two
Three.

“Still here”
Why are you taunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Please,
Haunt and taunt someone else with your sick games
I don’t never wanted to see you again.
Yet here you are,
Standing before me now.

You make me sick.
I hate you.
Why me?


Funhouse

I’ve lost my marbles
I’m insane
I’m being kept in this wacky-shack
I don’t belong here
Tied up like a dog.
At least that’s what they say.
But the people outside,
The real people say I’m not well
That I…
Belong here.



The black substance

It engulfs me in my dreams,
I do not see it coming.
It is but a shadow,
its creeping into my bed,
it slithers into my covers
I try to bat it away with my fists and blanket
but it's still there
a black, substance is crawling closer and closer,
it has me.
Then I wake up sweating and panting.
I sit up for a few minutes.
Then drift back off into Hell.



True Horror

The blood curdling 90 minutes
Except its real and I’m trapped
Isn’t it?

Falling into an endless pit
Onto a field of dust and despair
It haunts them
But I am not affected
I feel like Prometheus
But I am the birds…
And the titan.

Slip in a dream;
Two minutes is equivalent to two hours.
But five hours is equivalent to two hours.
It doesn’t make sense.
The mind is complex,
But what lies within is so much more sophisticated.



A mask of lies


He scratches and pulls at it,
but it won't come off.
It has become permanent,
It has become a part of him.
Morphed onto his flesh,
slowing sucking the little truth there is left.
It is not him,
it's merely a disguise,
but he has made it permanent.


Pesky

you,
are like a fly
constantly buzzing
in my ear.
If I hurt you,
I hurt myself
it truly is a lose,lose sort of thing.
So you are there,
and you will stay until you want to leave.
It makes no difference to me.
Stay there for eternity
or leave me tomorrow,
I don't care.



Deadly decisions

He’s waiting for the chance, but alas. It does not come.
He shall remain there, for another century. We are
getting impatient. We are all waiting on you.
So make your move and fall back into
the dark meadow and let the grass
consume you. Sink down until you’ve
hit the magical six feet. It’s understandable that
you’re not ready, but when
you are, we’ll be here. Waiting.



Rock, paper scissor


Rocks are for bashing
Scissors are for slicing
And paper,
well what the heck am I suppose to do with paper.
And how would it possibly go against
a pure force of granite.
If I'm paper,
and you're rock
then I don't smother you,
nor do I try to get in your way.
I just crinkle and blow aside
letting you pass,
and letting you go on your way.



Death of a Bear

The head pops off
And stuffing gushes out.
They rush it off
But there’s not much they could do
It’s too late.
The line has gone flat.
They call the family
No one comes.
Look at all the lonely people.



Nickels and dimes

The sac containing the metal pieces sails through the air and bursts
against my chest. The medallions spill everywhere, burning irises and corneas. A
stream of coins rushes to the tile floor, a waterfall spewing
on smoothly edged stones. Nothing can stop them or hold them back.
They fall, tortured. They plunge to their death. I walk along
the beach. With sand. I approach people with empty hands and
all they can do is scream.
They cannot see me running away. Giggling.




A "good" friend

The spindly fingers reach out
and touch you.
They get you in their grasp.
They comfort you
in a time of need.
Like a good friend
the cylinder shaped bottle will be there for you.
The lips are smooth
The body is perfect.
They seduce you into friendship
and you go ahead
and give in.
You lose.