The Final Argument of Lovers

Fickle sentiments with rusted diamond edges,

he said she said metronome bullshit breaking waves,

dividing in measured wedges.

Diatribes and verbal lacerations,

hurt soaked souls harmonizing in

beatdown rhythms instead of conversations.

You don’t know the depths to which I’ve gone,

the lengths of patience for love

you feel mislead like this was a siren song.

The end is racing towards us brutal fast

the thought that hateful statements

might be the last interaction is the worst

a feeling like nails in spine

an unending panic attack.

Heartbreak Happens

Too true.

Detest me.
Prevent me.
Direct me.
Understand this isn’t because I love the control,
tt’s because I’m comfortable under thumb.
Glassed over with your capable patrols,
I dream of places where you can’t come.
Starken my blistered eyelids into black,
soothing my hopeless windows into life.
Border my shutters with metal as a rack,
twist out the snips and set them on my strife.
I’d adore you in a thousand ways,
until the sun melted skin to butter.
I”ll adore you for a million days,
until you burn my offerings for another.
Supplant me.
Scrub me.
Deviate me.
A love song played on sickly notes,
I’d choke the lies out as they die in my throat.
Play fragrant music that offends the nerves,
disturb the inoculated innocence I sought to preserve.
Wrap on tightly around the collar,
building up bricks laid as cannon fodder.
Sing back the rhymes I hope will carry through,
but it’s all waste and wasteland even to you.
Describe me.
Vilify me.
Sharpen me.
A knife edge on razors surface,
culls back the meat so plentiful with purpose.
Strips back the layers of beautiful sin,
exposes righteously the soul within.
Expounding virtuous betrayals,
never to be found despite the trails.
Leave me.
Spit me.
Vomit me.
I was never what was good for you,
and now I’ll live marred forever,
lost in this lonely zoo.

A Road Home

Love under the moon.

A note from Skye: at a juncture in our relationship where I had left the woman who is now my wife behind to go on a callously stupid and ill-fated journey elsewhere, she inscribed a note on the blackboard I have inside the roof of my truck (then my home). She wrote me, “Never forget, that home is where the heart is.” Despite going through terrible fights and challenges as I lost my mind following a tearful reunion and after our marriage which eventually led to my diagnosis of schizoaffective, she has remained a constant presence and holds my soul, mind, and thoughts to a more serene path than I have ever imagined to be possible. It isn’t easy for either of us sometimes, but in honor of the forthcoming holiday and a desire to put a smile on her face, the short poem below came about. The dog I had at the time which came to love her as well was named Luna – hence the image attached. Thank you for reading.

That beast with feel good flames,

It shatters personality with energizing fear,

Makes a whole of fractured creatures,

Absence felt but unseen shines light,

On the gnarled path to something true and right.

Rather than lost and alone we find our way here,

Out of the forest of broken hopes,

To a land fabricated of dreams and words,

Of possibilities and limitless features.

When we journey beyond the ken of all that’s known,

Risk it all on a gambled passion turned more,

We’ve started a walk down that most crooked road,

The one that leads home.

Find your love.

Externaphizing

Hoping the jury is out.

I’m coming to the realization that on so many different levels I am either a remarkably calloused and demanding individual or there is a screw truly loose (several more likely) upstairs. It’s the only thing that can, or would, account for such indiscriminate moments of self indulgent burbling and behaviour as leads me to regularly overlook the concerns of those loving figures in my life. Unless I am well and truly an actual certifiable dick.


I’m even finding a flair for it in the fact that I tend to fixate on my own reactions and actions in situations – pre-emptively justifying some flagrant display of asinine “my way or the highway” choice making prowess with a fixated smile plastered in disregard on my face (which I will only later realize to my own chagrin). If I were to explore the world around me, step outside of this little glass room and observe that what I previously represented as fun was actually a brazen push off of my wife’s emotions and verbalized needs (supplanted by my own), irresponsible actions that drained coffers and put us at risk, and a worthless extension of a wonderful day into the doldrums and mire of a night huddled at opposite sides of the van.

Somewhere along the lines there is a lynchpin moment – like when I say, “wow, we are getting along great recently!” Klaxons should go off inside my head that any moment now my own self-destruct sequence just silently clicked on and started down. If I can chase back that singular moment as it happens and repetitiously drill it into my head that this is the moment where a choice can mean the validation of goodwill and genuine happiness being experienced and a continuation thereof, or disaster and a repeat of the same overplayed mistakes once again.

It seems intuitive that anyone would want to sustain positivity and goodvibes that are making themselves felt in an interpersonal dynamic – so why does my brain blank to suddenly and with seeming intent when it comes to taking the basic neccessary steps to do so? I don’t like the burned out husk of joy that is left when I don’t, no one does. If I have to be self serving enough to recognize the discomfort that the miss of that moment will bring to myself in order to identify the external impact that will precede, so be it.


I really hope I’m not just a dick. That would really be terrible.

Whiptail Smile – a Romance

,Burning.Woman

Whiptail fun times,

She laid back and threw that hair

Fire doesn’t have that shade,

Red on shimmer on length,

A fold on the mobius loop,

No drinks for breakfast man, reality is already soup.

She’s got a lily to her eye,

A tone to her smile,

Edge to her skullmeats,

Nothing average, not at all.

Beggars for fun,

And in a whisper,

Airy as a feather,

“Let’s do without the sorrow for awhile.”

A Divorce for the Past, Present, Future

So as something of a preface to the following let me just say that it has been an extraordinary (in both positive and negative ways) period of weeks since I last punched together something to share with the webs’ people. I had a few challenges about a month and a half back which resulted in my being asked to write a divorce letter to my “disease:….but not the quintessential “goodbye forever drugs” – but rather, towards however I envisioned that sickness which had driven me to be were it to wear a physical form. The suave smooth talking salesman, a blundering and demanding gargoyle, a bad ass mans man with a beard, a sexy woman teasing and seducing….whatever form i chose.
Hey baby you sexy thing,
Hey brother you filthy rock star.
Thank you for the stories,
Those staggering rides up with the comets,
Them epic nights rolling without pause into endless days.
Damn but we fucked well and,
Damn we sped past those pathetic sheep on the streets,
Damn we were a fireball of excitement,
A hurricane of insanity.
My sweet goddess of sin,
My destroying titan of hatred.
You blessed me,
You cursed me,
It’s time to walk away,
Sky, John, off with you and your false matrimony,
Off with this slavers collar on my finger,
Just like you spit in my face when the fun was done,
Feel the scornful gaze that your wisdom brought so many I once loved to cast upon me.
Sky, my lovely succubi, take your sinfully beautiful body,
Those promises of impossibly intense bliss that would never end,
Taste the disgust you draped me in before all I encountered.
My gruesome and powerful spirit,
My depiction of remorse,
Of emotion to be understood and chased,
My devil-may-caresofuckitallandwatchtheworldburn charmer,
John, even when you convinced me that I was doing something positive,
Always those that I wanted to hurt the least caught the brunt.
You made loving tantamount to self-inflicted emotional trauma,
Never again.
You both served your purpose, goodbye.
I divorce myself from my past including you.
From the present wherein my personality is lost in yours and all I can see and be seen as is as you made me,
From the future of which I know little,
With this freedom,
I embrace myself again to stand tall and walk with purpose and confidence to something brighter.
Where the voices are new,
The suggestions more pure,
Life lived more passionately instead of intensely.
-S