To Myself Somewhere Up Ahead

Wish you were here my older self
to see the things that I’ve seen
when I was you before being me
walking down the cobbled streets
leaning on the creaking memories
listening to the noises of yesterday
that tell me someone used to live here
now only echoes grow here
their shadows embrace me
like old lovers that I once knew
their faces a blur and a kiss
I wish I could say their names
but my lips drips forgetfulness
it’s my curse and my sin
walking down these windy streets
trying to put together the way for me
so we don’t trip on that rock called regret
that still follows me wherever I trod
hounding my steps
I just wish you were here with me
to keep me some company
waiting for the sun to kiss the dawn sky
letting night off the hook
and all the stars blink out
I’ll just keep walking
Until I see you again.

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The process

let my fingers rot and fall
instead of withering my heart
crashing my soul upon this wall
so casually known as lack of inspiration

I can feel venom trickling down
each keystroke
wishing slow death
to whatever muse holds you hostage

shadow of a shadow
that hides from my sight
haunting every inch of my mind
you faceless blight

here I sit bound
by despair
with nothing to feed me
but a bowl of rage

painfully the words leave me
drops of blood that I squeeze out
for the indifferent page
ever hungry for more

It is done
I am left a husk
blown away
by the caprices of the wind

tomorrow we shall edit.

Inspired

I’m inside the box again. That fucking box. Swear to Christ, Buddha, Mohamed, fucking Cthulhu, I’m sick of it, really, sick of it. Every time it feels like I gain momentum in something, anything, I do, sooner or later I fall into its depths. Four walls, roof, ceiling. No windows, doors, no exit of any kind. I pretty much have to force my way out of this place. Pure brute force. Each. Single. Piss. And. Blood. Time. Has anyone ever considered that it’s just, well, tiring? Like, jacked-off-to-a-five-hour-Jenna-Jameson-porn-marathon tiring. Yeah. That much. It’s a goddamn effort to raise my arms, but here I am, doing so. Why? Shit…what’s plan B? Up and die? Call it quits? Oh boy, I haven’t heard that one before, no sir. Haven’t considered just laying low, wait for the end to slowly inch its way towards me, touch my heart, grip it in its cold, murdering hand and just twist. Tick. Tock. Stop. Done. C’est fini. Ah…who am I kidding? I’m too much of a chickenshit to let it all end, and besides…there’s still a stupid, stubborn, even hopeful (God knows why) bit of me that will simply prop me up on my two and, for at least another moment, get me moving. Out of the box, back to doing whatever it is I was doing before.

Until I fall in again.

Shitshitshitshit.

Once more unto the breach, ya freaks.

My Smile

She carried me on the tip of her tongue. I died every day, melting over and over to her sweetness. The days were as long as our shadows, covering hills and forests, wrapping us in its mother’s-arms-around-you warmth. Summer was never this good when I was a kid, no matter how much my kaleidoscope memories spun their gentle lies. Nostalgia under the sun tasted bittersweet, but I savoured it. After all, I never went thirsty when I looked into her eyes, two onyx mirrors that threw back a hint of the Cheshire Cat’s pearly whites. My smile was for her and all the stars aligned.

I’ll Walk with my Dead

I’ll walk with my dead
with bare feet
upon red earth
soaked in blood
from victims unnamed

I’ll walk with my dead
head unbowed
there is no shame
to die inglorious
amid fire and hate

I’ll walk with my dead
lips a ditch spread
with grief and truth
they still haunt me
with waking eyes

I’ll walk with my dead
carry their sins
spreading their ashes
with every tear
in unmarked graves

I’ll walk with my dead
fade into shadow
anonymous gone
maybe I will live again
if you walk with me.