Pick Your Poison

something this way aches

words are stifled
and ideas are lost

twisting towards the bottom
my momentum runs its course

I want to be noble, honest, virtuous and whole.
I'm not there yet; too much hate and fear still cling to my palette.
Incomplete man with far more blame for others than for himself, I wander forwards without tact.

Stale Winds Washed Away

snake oil sundays
guide this empowerment
to new plateaus
and here i've been
just hoping to stay up

dont come back
and joy might fester
or instead
might i just run

something quivers
in depths unhinged
by all departure
of faith and

the darkened magics
of psychosis incarnate
weave like webs
that cover
my blind eyes

then dawn approaches
and she's gone

this is where
new smiles
are born
Function over form. Yeah, you're beautiful, but can you make it work?


As the stage lights dim
the chatter swiftly thins out;
you will find me here,
remembering that I've been meaning to send them all letters,
each one carefully worded
and smelling of amber oils and stale cigarette butts.
The actors take their positions all around
as the story unfolds;
life has a funny way
of changing most profoundly
in the blink of an eye,
and yet the world seems so still
when I gaze with a careful sight.
Such an odd day,
to have a flashback kick in to full swing
at this tiny local theater
behind the bakery and to the left.
Things begin to glimmer
and the laughter bubbles up;
I am in a room that is on top of the world,
looking down
towards freedom,
though sometimes glancing back
because I might one day return.
The players play and then bow and we leave,
holding only memories to explain these acts.
I am legion,
host to many plot lines that are left to plot my lines
as well as several thespians
that dance their dance of swords
the same way that I fence my reflections:
with one retort too many and a solid wit just behind the eyes.

Alt + F4

I see you;
not the facade of kindness and concern that you display for anyone else,
not the 'peace and happiness' herbal shaman-in-the-making,
but the you that flows beneath the skin:
I see you;
entitlement is your burden, it will bind you to this existence for eternity.
Judgemental spite will be your undoing
for you are your own worst enemy.
You can do as well as you want in this segment of your life,
but nothing will protect you from the beast that slumbers within;
the advancement of your age will inevitably weaken the cage in which it lies
until it bursts forth irretrievably into the valley of your precious delights.
I will no longer look upon you with these open eyes,
at least not with any concern
as to what it is that I perceive.
I will look right through you
and hope that I am wrong.


a thousand questions swell towards a sudden surrender
pointed snarling death-worshipping arachnids circling in the sky
flames erupting into fire at my feet as i march up to face them
teeth gnashing and blood boiling
i can taste their hunger

and with certitude i understand that there is no greater clarity to be exhumed
as i continue the march of a mad man towards certain oblivion

then, suddenly
i open my eyes and look up
and my skies no longer swirl with terror and dismay

it is possible that i am seeing the horizon for the first time with these fragile eyes

the sun is setting
the day is done

i am no longer beseeched nor presented with such inquiries
and the sky holds brilliant colors
as i march up to face them

Finally, the feeling returns to my fingers;
Windy chill when Summer's somewhere else. 
No chance at hibernation 
as the caves have all filled up. 
Yet even after the coldest night, 
the sun's light still peeks through.