Sick
To death
Of my nonchalant
Toughness;
Of concealing
What hurts
With a shrug,
Saying “there’s more where I come from,”
Shoving the shouts
And tears
Into back pockets
Until they are bulging
At the seams.
Emptiness is eating away
The best of yours truly;
Someone please
Spare your
Tenderness—
Bring me back to life
With your calming
Touch and Kindness.
“Black is the truth
Of my situation,
And for those
Of my station
In life.
All other colors lie. ”
—Suzanne Vega.
As fair
and
Square.
Time contends
Duality
Over
Blunt equality—
The Loved
And
The Beloved
Rarely take
The same
Seat.
The clockworks of the underworld
Are easy to know—
Fuel all doubts with
Adrenaline and ecstasy,
Place an elusive smirk
Across the cheeks,
And be prepared to do anything—
Beneath its apparent safety,
There lies the devil
Of doggy dog
Full of animal instincts;
Play nonchalant,
Relax the shoulders,
And enjoy the circus.
But keep your eyes
Peeled;
Ready two-plus ways out
Lest it begins to prowl.
.
.
.
The cheap tricks;
The toxified glee;
Milieus of afraid and dangerous
Deadbeats.
You know your ways around it,
Have seen the poor bastards
Who were forced to bleed.
You were never one of them,
But never were you
One among the survival creatures
Of the suicidal, daily Races.
Yes,
I walk in a blindfold,
Most days
I do not save
What’s Right from foul.
And
I work in the Dark,
So my Callings
Never grow strong.
I am merely
A creature of stubborn habits,
Destroying the body
All year round.
But
Please
Turn your back not.
As bare are these flaws,
Deformed is this bag
Of brittle bones
That scantly moves along—
Oh my Kin,
Brother and Sister,
Have Faith in me,
For my Compassion sits
Like an endless Well.
If thirst shall befall,
I will not
Let you down.
Confide in my Embrace,
Oh Love,
For I only write
Of Tenderness & Hope
In your song—
My affection is
A stream that runs
Forever long.
Won’t you see,
Swimming Bird?
You have
Gotten me
All wrong.
I’ve been
Catching
Dark Flies within—
Won’t you
Stay your
Welcome?
The You
So near
But nowhere found,
I am
Scrubbing
The Outside
To A
Shimmer—
Hoping
The Glare
Will bring
You
Around.
You see yourself
Bend and break
Into a million pieces—
Your dreams and aspirations
Deep in trenches—
For moments,
You begin to witness
Your withering:
A gradual,
Irrevocable decease
Of the once
Vastly immense
Well—
From which
Rose your strength;
Sets of spines
For
The Heavy load.
You see it,
This indefinite
Blackening
Of
The Sun—
The last breath
Of air
Escaping your lungs.
But
Do bite
Your
Tongue—
You may just
Forget
This dark void
And live
To See
Another Dawn.
I speak to Her
On occasions;
The exchange of
Recreational
Words—
It seems as if
We could babble
All day
And nothing
Would be
Of consequence.
Unaware, I would
Ramble on and on,
Not knowing
She is inwardly
All amber-colored
Kindness:
A silent,
Elusive Saint—
And that I am,
Despite
Mere, scattered desires,
Nothing
But
A mortal
Cottonmouth.
“I find myself wondering about humanity. Their attitude to my sister’s gift is so strange. Why do they fear the sunless lands? It is as natural to die as it is to be born. But they fear her. Dread her. Feebly they attempt to placate her.
They do not love her.
Many thousands of years ago, I heard a song in a dream, a mortal song that celebrated her gift. I still remember it:
‘Death is before me today:
Like the recovery of a sick man,
Like going forth into a garden
After sickness.
Death is before me today:
Like the odor of myrrh,
Like sitting under a good sail
In a good wind…'”
I walk by her side, and the darkness lifts from my soul.
I walk with her, and I hear the gentle beating of mighty wings.”
—Neil Gaiman, Sandman: Vol. 1, Preludes and Nocturnes.
You are free before the daylight sun,
And free before the nighttime stars;
You are even free
When you close your eyes
To all there is—
But you are a slave,
You are a slave to the one you love,
Because you love him,
And he loves you back.
Particular Moments 