I Like To Play Deeply

I fall asleep to voiceless thoughts

And wake up to morbid day-dreams.

Out drips excretions from serrated prose,

The monologs of lifeless playthings.

Like playing dress up in foggy streets

Where every few feet has potential to be anything

And I can be whatever I believe

Until the sun erases my possabilities.

It eats me away with every dull moment,

Goading me back into my imagination.

Creative spirals of disparate mumblings,

The umbilical straps of my safe haven.

Eventually I’ll wake up to freer days

And slumber securely in a psychic Hell

When all my debts have been repaid

And I don’t slip away so well.

Happy New Year, Everyone.

There’s no denying it’s been hard. There are many faces I’ve missed and harsh realities to swallow. Still, it means a lot to share these scraps of prose with everyone who comes along. I hope you’re comfortable and secure tonight, and that we’ll have even more to share in 2021!

Doors Of Discordia

The calmest moments

Are in the empty space

Beyond the wooden door

Hovering around us.

Every quiet breath

Draws it slightly closer,

Forever hanging over,

Until we stop.

Attractive, perhaps,

Although frightening.

Merely turn the handle,

Simplicity itself,

Though how abhorred

To be betrayed or forced

Through the other side

Against our will.

Whatever else

Could inspire such fear,

Fascination, anger, sadness,

And lust.

Tranquility or Hell,

Loves loved and lost,

Escape and imprisonment,

Falling,… Fallen,… Fall,…

 

 

 

Sleeping Spell

Weighted words whispering slyly,

Constantly prickling your psyche’s core.

Memories and worries trickling through

Like locusts burrowing in your thoughts.

Down deserted paths under dark canopies

Of weather-worn tangled boughs

Wander withering self-identities

Wishing to have been realized.

In ragged grown thickets deep

Between the spires of ancient trees

It sings its honied lament

Like woven shadows through the leaves.

Caught within their passive torment

The shadows of former selves hear

And like a drought of sweet relief

Their worrying whispers disappear.

Soft dulcet tones swaying

Like a breeze offering retreat,

Enticed into enchantment

The wandering mind further sinks.

Awake and unaware,

Walking steadily through a dream

Down deeper in the thickets

Where it salivates and sings.

Weightless words whisper softly

Lulling you into sleep.

 

 

 

Kennel Lullaby

Philosophic curios

Inspire as much as they distract.

12 degrees Fahrenheit

A sapping chill in the stale air.

Lack of sleep

In tandem with vitamin deficiencies.

Perfected poverty,

Enamored with the beautiful and the cruel.

 

Sleep, my love

Let not your heart be troubled.

Sleep, sweet one,

Think not of days to come.

Fall, falling deep

Below the tempestuous waves of worry.

Falling into sleep

Beneath the surface of your anxious storms.

Feel, not think,

The gentle rhythms pervading your chest.

Feeling, just feeling,

Warmth and rest and nothing more.

Sleep, precious one,

Webs of shadow enwrap your soul.

Precious, precious sleep.

Nothing matters, not at all.

 

Rest now in the darkest deep,

Wrapped snuggly under boughs

Of thickest willows.

The garden of shadows,

Welcoming you in open arms

To slumber and to hide.