Friday, December 28, 2012

Perhaps it's Time for Something Good

The frost‘s been biting harder
These last few days
The season shows it‘s anger
In this way.

At times, the shroud of darkness
Seems too thick to pierce with light
It seems that we must harness
What strength we find inside

And walking seems impossible
With this burden of snow
The sheet of ice an obstacle
That hinders us to go

So much weighs down the mood
Perhaps it‘s time for something good.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Truth Deficient

I don't know what to make of this,
the show you like to put on,
pretending to be something else
than the one thing you are good for.

You stretch the truth with such skill
it's hard to find the edges,
or signs that give you up until
your skyscraper collapses.

You build your lies with little truths
you've morphed into submission
making it hard to find the clues
beyond all recognition.

And in your darkest moments
you're the blind leading the lame
you're your own worst oponent
but you delegate the blame.

It's hard to be responsible
for all your past mistakes
when everyone's disponible
to hide the truth away.

And in the end you'll find the flaw
in your illusion's grand design
that you can't reverse your own law
when you're feeling so inclined.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Beating a Dead Horse

Here's to every story
we will never make
to those glossy sounds
that give way
to the break
Cross your fingers
close your eyes
There is nothing
stopping you
so don't wait
I have dug my nails in
too many ways
And my teeth have grated
your skin
I have picked apart
all the separate parts
And drawn the music out
as my bitter reward
So here's to every story
we will never make
to those glossy sounds
swallowed up by the break

Sunday, July 29, 2012

I give you my Words.

Whether written
In an attempt to connect
Or spoken
To similar ends

But does anyone
Ever really care
That you‘re giving them
Your words?

I tried a while back
To bring something
Something of worth
To the people around me
By word

But it seems
A mission bound to fail
When everyone
Seems to have an abundance of words
Always at their disposal
Some from minds
Far greater than mine
Some that bring better news
Than the words I can give

In the end
What is the value of my words
When they fail to even describe
The universe that resides
Within me?

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Ordinary Dreams

I‘m writing a goodbye letter to all my sidetracked dreams
The ones that are so ordinary you don‘t notice they are there
Until you realize that nothing is as seems
And that you never wanted those things so they vanish into air.

I may have phantasized about the names of my own kids
And wether they would have His eyes
But I finally realize that nothing‘s what it is
And so you‘ve got to choose your prize

And the family I yearned for when I was 8 years old
All the love I longed to create that wasn‘t there
I‘ve realized those were all silent dreams of home
Born within a hope that went amiss

I‘ve been craving things that have nothing to do with me
Wanting what we‘re told to want for the sake of wanting
I‘ve been wanting a life and unexpectedly,
I‘ve realized that all of these things have meant nothing.

I am not a person who will ever settle down
And to a family I have nothing I could give
My wishes were of taking, I was greed-bound
But dreams of  lusts leave you with nothing to live.

So if I wake up one day a different person than I am
And I find I‘ve gained a sense of giving
Then maybe I can dream those dreams again.
Until then I‘ll do my own living.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

The Shore

So it's come to this again
the rain is pouring
on the earth where I stand.
I'm still just myself
And I know, I'm sure
you know what I mean,
I feel like the writing in the sand.

Every wave that hits me
is your words undisguised.
You just keep me busy
and it's not advised
that I see that dark note in your eyes.
It makes me dizzy.
I feel like,
yes I feel like,
I feel like the writing in the sand.

Made of art by a steady hand
but fading
on this earth where I stand
and the earth is shaking.
I feel like the writing in the sand

I'm slipping away,
I can't pretend
that I don't feel,
yes I feel like,
I feel like the writing in the sand. 

Writing in sand, by Mrs Logic

Thursday, May 10, 2012

The Choice

In this moment,
stagnant with unspent relief,
I feel like a nerve:
Exposed and Raw

In each hand,
and no matter how brief,
a choice to make
each leaving me bourgeois.

In hesitating
one is yet exhausted
leaving me
with nothing but one option.

071228 human hands

Sunday, April 22, 2012

The Land That Kept My Secret

There is a place,
(it isn't well known)
on the face of this Earth,
Where the Moss Campion has grown.

There is a lake,
it's waters freezing still,
where once upon a date
I gave up my free will.

And to this day,
where the frozen snow rests
and heavily weighs
upon a violet's chest

There lies the thing
I cherished the most.
With the broken string
of my childhood host.

There evergreen,
lies my spirit to fight
next to these peregrine
treasures of mine.

There is a place,
(it isn't well known)
on the face of this Earth
and the Campion still grows

One day when I come back,
the land-overgrown
will greet me, intact,
and have swallowed them whole.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Trinkets for your thinking

For every stupid thing I've said
You have a dime that's worse for wear
You claim the thoughts inside my head
And pull them out into the air

As if a single golden coin
Could be the thing that makes this right
Yeah, to the victor go the spoils
And all my words can spoil the night

They stain my lips, they stain the air
And mark the atmosphere you breathe
They taint the ground on which you walk
Yeah, they can soil your precious streets

You'll never pay me for discretion
You'll never bribe away the truth
I'm so far gone beyond retention
Your efforts are a point that's moot

A dam is loose, a seal is broke
There's nothing now that you could do
No lengths that you could ever go to
That wouldn't perish in the smoke

The Truth will out, the Truth will go
Wherever Truth sees fit to be
And though it have no other place
This Truth will have a place in me

*Dimes are not gold- this is besides the point.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Broken Branches

Hold on to the illusion
that one day it will get better,
Hold on to it because you know
the alternative is bitter

And it’s quicker

To fight with a smile on your face
Instead of counting
the time that you waste

We had some words
Yeah, and we always came apart
I never found my way back to the start

And I can tell

You never really adjusted well
In this purgatory or hell,
you know...the place you dwell

You’re in limbo in my mind
And I’m stuck in the rewind
Wrote it so many times –
if only I could find

Just a way-just a sentinel,
some road to follow
I would beg, I would borrow,
I would give away tomorrow

Does it matter really?

You slander me so freely
It’s not an accident
but a choice you make daily

I’m the broken branches
of a tree with rotten roots
I’m evil too boot and it’s not that cute

I’m just a mean person –
I’m the jerk you love to hate
I’m everything that grates
on your nerves, it’s too late

I can’t be changed.

It doesn’t matter much
All I am is out of touch
I fall behind on
every point of adult life.

And it’s fine

This misery is purely mine
And I’ll love it dearly
until the end of my time.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Felines of Hell

I thought that it might help if I stayed for a while, just completely still, motionless.

I could feel a set of green eyes glowering in the dusk. I could stay still for a long time but something told me this once, when it was most needed, it couldn’t be long enough.

Movement is change. I felt uncomfortable in the status quo of the moment but my every fiber was screaming against change. I didn’t know what would happen if I dared to change one thing, even something as insignificant as the position of my pinky.

Lights grew dimmer, dusk swathed itself in night, becoming its very essence. The green eyes’ presence was persistent. Others had joined them. I could feel my heart tremble as I lay there in the darkness. They gathered about me silently. We were playing a game: They knew that I knew that they knew- but who would break first and admit to this dangerous knowledge? My resolve was strong, rooted in my survival instinct; I could not lose this battle. They forged on. I could hear the muted sound of their step. Soon I knew that I was fully surrounded, there was no escape. They waited. The silence was only broken by the warm noises of their pleasure. They were winning the battle.

“What will you do to me?!” when I could bare the silence no more. A sound akin to an unsatisfied yawn lingered in the darkness. No answer. I had broken the wall of silence only to be faced with an even thicker one. My skin shivered. I could feel the cold sudor forming in my palms. Once a rule is broken it becomes easier to break another. I moved, slowly reaching with my hand to massage my legs back into being, the blood frozen in my limbs. I listened keenly for any noise. There was none. I dared to look around slowly; I couldn’t see them in the dark, all I could see were flickers of green and yellow lights moving in circles around me in the dark hue of night. They were there and they knew I had broken the rules.

What will you do to me? It niggled in the deepest ridges of my brain, where axons meet somas and everything goes firing away, turning the smallest of stimuli into gelid fear. Cold steel enclosed my heart. I lay still. The wall was broken. There would be consequences and really I knew all that was left was to wait. There was no escaping. Like rivers to the ocean, so do a person’s actions lead to that cardinal moment in their life, a critical blink of the eye…something that is so fleeting it can’t be touched, fathomed or even noticed. I could smell their moist breaths, randomly dotting the cooling air around me, making small concentrated clouds of vapor, like muddy smoke.

What would they do to me? Desperation is a disease that festers, beginning in the gray matter inside of your head. Spreading, not like wildfire, over dry fields and crackling forests but rather the way a thick gruesome porridge begins to bubble slowly only to eventually flood over the rims of its container and spread quicker than you’d imagined possible. Are these demons inside your mind? Do they follow your every move? Is reality very simply slipping away? A loud, screeching, unforgiving noise.


Thoughts race so fast it’s impossible to grasp one that can retain form long enough to be recognizable. It’s impossible to tell whether in the silence, the noise that was heard before has become endless, or has it ceased to be so completely that it is as if it never even began? What did it mean anyway? There are always, always consequences.

More silence

Maybe this is the ocean. Maybe the river has run its course. Stillness.

Yet maybe not.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Bloody Awful Poetry

To me you are a line, refined, of bloody awful poetry

The string of a fiddle, resigned to bloody awful poetry

The climax of a steep decline, like bloody awful poetry

Everyone else’s – only mine, my bloody awful poetry.