Teaser

Floating in acidic seas
and warm red pulsing rivers
Callous demons play and tease
And coax the snake from slumber

Poem 568

The words you speak
Lie lazily on your tongue
Compressing from the inside out,
Depressing from the inside out,
And I can taste them,
Each time we kiss.
Slobber from sobbed stories,
Mingling idly on my lips,
Taking refuge on my neck,
Getting lost in my hair

I don't like them anymore,
Not the sounds
Drenched in feeling
And sick summer sweat,
Or the taste of your spit,
Or the stench from the stains,
That you leave on my skin.

I don't like that I need to put the
training wheels back onto a bike,
that just don't fit.

I'm sorry, baby,
I just don't want words that stick.

Untitled and Unfinished

Living in a disillusioned
Version of the truth
Rhyming, writing, thoughts that
Echo feebly
Barely shaking the fingers
Typing, printing
Papers tattooed with
Nonchalant ideas
A disillusioned
Version of the truth,
My truth.

Pollution

The world cold and ugly,
The smell of deceit,
Clouds each head,
With impending grief.
And Mother Nature unable,
to keep up with this dread,
She shields us and shelters us,
To a population misled,
Who take shelter offered,
Hiding beneath the shade,
Of the brittle brown leaves,
On a poisoned tree, decayed.

High Anxiety

Beautiful blue,
His evasive moods,
With eyes askew,
Tiptoes towards food.

He lies undisturbed,
In the eye of this,
Great hurricane.

Timid tranquil soul,
Caught in a whirlwind,
Of human control.

A Short Love Story

"I do not love you."
she said with gritted teeth.
"I promised myself I wouldn't and couldn't.
You are wrong for me in every way."

His eyes sank with her heart
and he promptly turned on his heel.

"Wait!"
Her hand reached for his arm,
"Where are you going?"

Vulnerability glowing beneath her skin,
Seeping from her pores,
The familiar stench drawing him
Closer once more.

Hypnotized by the light,
Like a moth,
Walking willingly
Towards his own demise.

The spider waiting beneath to devour her prize.

April Shower

Dirt and sand,
Line the clothes that line the floor,
and taint the water that runs past my feet.

Grimy streaks in the bathtub,
Proof of the dust that once clung to me,
Unable to stain my skin.

I am clean,
surrounded by filth,
and the spiders that feed off it.

My sanity running cold,
then hot again,
As I drown beneath the water flowing
Eternally from my shower's head.

Keeping me clean, clean, clean.
Time and time again,
Despite the ever growing mountains.

Accumulating junk
That litters the earth's floor,
With aspirations and good intentions.

Seeping into the sewage,
Winding it's way into homes,
Quenching our unquenchable thirst.

And washing me clean, clean, clean,
Of all the dirt and filth,
That surrounds me.

A Feminist's Rise

There is no you.

And with that,
I must draw out,
With a deep long sigh,
My trivial aspirations,
From the shallow pools,
That drown my heart.

The same heart that,
Shaped from an understanding,
Of what I was supposed to be,
Confined by the obsolete "truth",
Striped of innocence,
Grew ignorantly into bliss.

A beautiful existence,
but not without you.

And if I use my tongue too frequently,
And keep true to my identity,
Dare to lose my naivete,
Or stray from femininity
I risk you.

Flaunting your ideals,
With my mouth frozen shut in a smile,
I am significant,
Like a statue,
And in this stone cold life,
I have your respect.

And so fear keeps my voice,
Fear of loss and of loneliness,
Unsaid words littering my mind,
Piling into cluttered walls,
That shelter and blind,

All for a you.

The brilliant sun,
In this starless galaxy,
I orbit.

But your cold fire made me shiver,
A tremor that collapsed the great wall of shit,
That held my thoughts hostage.
And shook the foundation,
Upon which my statue stood.
Forged ideals and uniform truths,
Cracking and breaking,
Forming and reshaping,
And now:

There is no you,

There is only me.

Hypnotized

The world has been spinning
Faster and further
Into chaos

And we watch from behind our tired eyes
Our home theaters
Where we've seen every dvd on the shelf

Our minds finally numb
Deaf and dumb
To life beyond the big black box

If it's not happening to us
Then great
Fuck the world
It's going to hell, anyways.

The Frustrated Fetus

Thoughts collide into one another, crumbling on impact. They scramble to retain their dignity, picking up the pieces and forcing them into a nonsensical puzzle. The obscure image makes every room I frequent seem hazy. My heart projected onto the walls. They move with me, breathing my air, my deep heavy sighs. Drawing my sorrow in and exhaling my relief. Confining me to a dizzying house thats alive and dead all at once. Little does it know that within this womb grows an angry and cynical child. Observing from the windows, the life below. The selfish, stupid world. The world that knows no walls or boundaries. There is no alternative, I am a part of it all. Whether I choose to open the door or suffocate inside.

Spring

I have to squint my eyes to keep the sun at bay. The clearest, brightest star has finally emerged from the depths of it's darkest reverie. Nothing dares share the spotlight; faint white streaks are the only proof of clouds today. And below the bright blue sea of sky lays me, a girl on a hammock. I sit in a garden of dead sticks and twigs and brittle skeleton leaves covering patches of beige grass. Crisp cold air breathes life into my tired lungs, rejuvenating them with spring vigor. My voice newly inspired.

I have been hibernating too long. Breathing the same stale air beneath my cozy comforter. So deeply asleep and so comforted by the consistent warmth that I didn't dare move from the bed. The sun woke me. Its strange heat surpassed the quality of my blanket and my skin greeted the rays eagerly in the morning light. From my window I could see the snow dissipate first into brown and then into ground, taking deathly winter with it. And now, the wind stirs, waking the lifeless and seducing the birds into their native lands. Luring me out on tiptoe to kiss it.

And so, here I lay, blanket-less on a hammock beneath the cloudless blue sky, bathing in the changing of the seasons.

The Revolution

My life like a broken record player, continues it's month long marathon of unemployment. Same thing day in and out. My activities, thoughts and words on repeat.

My room has turned into a cave. I dwell within it, hiding my face from the glorious sun as it seeps in through my windows. I'm ashamed of the monster I've become and so I keep my objects of affection close for comfort. I resist change with my teal scrubs and unkempt hair, tied loosely into a knot. Few people dare to enter my lair; afraid, perhaps, that I am contagious. Or maybe it is the pungent smell of incense and weed that turns them away. For it is that very same smell that lures me in and keeps me. Confining me to a body with legs too lazy to move and a brain that yearns for new information, weary eyes and heart divided.

But today, haunted by an old self, I feel anew. Waking up to opened blinds, the light burning the stagnation off my drooping eyelids I clearly find the path to the washroom, and then down the stairs to the kitchen. My feet no longer sleepy and stubborn, obeying my every whim. We will leave the lair today, I have decided. I am determined to transform myself from cave monster into girl, once again.

London Bridge is Falling

Anger is my cancer,
embedded in my heart,
Pumping through my veins,
And tearing me apart.

Soul consumed with fire,
And embers made from ice.
Soon the coals will melt,
and the fire will burn out.

I will not rise from ashes,
Or sink into the ground,
I will be reborn, with new
Wisdom that I've found.

My brain will wrinkle more,
Gap widening with every fold,
Floating ever farther
Into space, alone and cold.

My Heavy Head

I just needed it. I needed to stare blankly at the wall for an hour or two and I needed to sit cross legged on the floor picking at my nail. I needed to clear my head to make room for the thoughts that wander in and out carelessly from one ear to the other. And yes, if you must know. Yes, I was perfectly happy to just sit there empty. Until he walked in.

He didn't just walk, he strode like a pompous fool directly to the center of my thoughts. And what did he do when he got there? He laughed. He mocked every ridiculous notion I had and shamed them away into the dark recesses of my brain till there was only him.

My pulse quickened and my temples throbbed as

he started to consume my mind. Taking my brain apart bit by bit, chewing the pieces to a bloody pulp and letting the remains rot in his stomach. And with each morsel I could feel him grow until his body sat cramped within the confines of my skull.

My head is heavy now. It's hard to lift it with such a large man living inside. He feeds off my thoughts, and yours as well. I am tormented with each contemplation as it contributes to his size. I hope you understand now why we cannot speak.

The Doctor

It’s my first time leaving the house in two days. The sun stings my eyes and the cold air is harsh. Inside the car isn’t much better and in bitter anxiety over the pain in my throat I decide not to put on my seatbelt. Instead I press my feverishly warm forehead against the cold window, staring blankly at the passing scenery. There is only snow reflecting light, blinding my eyes and contributing to my headache, and the occasional murky brown relief.
Five minutes pass and already I find myself walking into the clinic. It’s early but there’s still a line-up to see the doctor. I settle into a chair in the corner next to a woman with long dark hair. She takes no note of me but I quickly survey her damage as well as everyone else’s. No one seems to be suffering in their supposed sickness. I’m clearly in need of some medical attention, or at least some mind numbing drugs, can’t they see that? The old lady opposite me definitely can, when she thinks I’m not looking she glances at me sympathetically. God, I must look like crap. All bundled up and shivering, with a swollen neck and a gaunt face. One hand clutches my empty stomach, and the other holds my hanging head. I wait and wait and wait. The crowd thins as the ticking clock on the wall slowly drills into my skull, until there is only me and two other patients left. A muslim woman who’s dressed her baby all in pink and a large scruffy man in baggy sweat clothes. I am next in line. I close my eyes and try to drift off.
“Hey, where are you?” His booming voice echoes in my head, “I’m at the doctor’s, turn around and come meet me.”
My eyes flutter open to glare at baggy sweat pants man, hoping my penetrating stare will be sufficient enough to put an end to his offense. He doesn’t notice and continues conversing with his invisible mate. My pupils shift restlessly between him and the “no cellphone” sign above his head. I want to yell at him, scream at the top of my lungs, tell him all the damage he’s doing to my head, but I have very little strength and I know that my throat will allow for little more than a whisper to escape my parched lips. Resigned, I clutch my head with both hands, pressing deep into my temples in an attempt to squeeze the pain out. I can feel my pulse throbbing angrily beneath my sweaty palms.
"Eleanor?" I look up to face the receptionist, my head still in my hands. "You can go inside now." I try to smile and follow her down a narrow hallway into a cramped room. "The doctor will be with you shortly." I take a seat in a chair identical to the one in the waiting room and regard the examination table beside me. A fresh sheet of paper lies neatly on top of it, protecting future patients from whatever terrible sickness it is that I have. My chair sits adjacent to a desk, on top of which are more "waiting room" magazines. I can hear the muted voice of the man on his cellphone down the hall. Surrendering to the seemingly eternal fate of waiting , I allow my head to drop to the table with a small thud and sink into a light, listless slumber.
Minutes, maybe days have passed; I am completely unsure and just want sleep when finally the doctor enters the room. She looks me over and asks me to sit on the examination table. I don't even bother to remove my coat, hat or scarf as I slump onto the bed. The paper crinkles uncomfortably beneath me as I list off my symptoms. "Sore throat, throbbing headache, aching muscles, unbreakable fever, and did I mention that my throat hurts?" My eyes well up as I talk. "Let me take a look inside." I open my mouth, and she takes out a light, "Wow, that's bad." Words of comfort in a time of distress.
I stumble back out into the waiting room and walk towards the pharmacy, clutching my prescription tightly with both hands. It is my golden ticket and I hand it to the pharmacist with a pained smile. He does not know how long I've waited and he is unsympathetic to my condition. No doubt he's dealt with my kind before, he doesn't look eager to converse again. I swallow and a tear escapes my eye as another dull blade bites down deep inside my neck. "How long will it be?" I ask timidly, afraid to disturb the monster in my throat. "Not long, take a seat." I relax as best I can in an orthopedic chair, and watch him move about behind the counter. I can feel the eyes of the woman next to me and I turn to face her. She smiles at me as if I am dying. I wait again, this time concentrating on not swallowing. Five minutes pass slowly but finally the pharmacist beckons me and hands me a paper bag. Sweet relief. I tear it open, remove the drugs, fumble with the child safety for a moment and then carefully extract one pill before popping it into my mouth. It doesn't go down easy without water but I force it in. Nothing happens. I listen to the pharmacists instructions, staring impassively into his eyes, pay him, and leave.
"Where is the mind numbing, drowsy, drug induced bliss?", I wonder this for days but it doesn't come. And so I wait in the throes of this never ending malady.