Weblog

Tuesday, 27 December 2011

  • Antigravity

    Floating, I'm a feather falling,
    but I must resemble gelatin
    for how heavy I am melting.

    Swimming eyes– labored and electric–
    looking but not seeing a soul.
    Sweat enough to drip
    onto the floor and flush
    away. Freeze before the rain
    can wash you clean.

    Scissor mean– road surface sheen–
    I'm spread thin
    and clear like black ice.

    Darkened, I'm a dull blade
    bruising black and blue,
    but skating from the surface.

    Rhythm loses its meter,
    and I'm short of breath;
    forgetting to breathe
    until I'm short of death.
    But this is how I pursue the living:
    I chase after that fucked-up feeling,

    because without it,

    I am gone.

Monday, 26 December 2011

  • Less Than

    I have no form but formless.
    I have no spine, I'm gormless.
    Hide behind walls like panes–
    painfully transparent–
    such vanity– I thought I released.
    Denial– complete competition for the
    lowest low.
    Guilt– the dirt you rub your face in.

    I cannot face or fix it– I'm nerveless.
    I cannot speak– express it– I'm verbless.
    Nothing new– redundancy makes a fool
    of me and this whole thing
    is a spool of unthreading string;
    the same damn note dragged out–
    never form a song let alone a symphony.
    No needle, but I thought about the record–
    how easily ruined.

    I cant compete, I'm useless.
    My entire life is fruitless.

Sunday, 25 December 2011

  • Moot Point

    I am the mass,
    but have no weight.
    Hearts pulse without liberty.

    A secret well-known–
    soft, warm stone.
    Everything is tangible,
    but cannot be touched.
    Where did I go?

    Infinity in a moment–
    I can dream outside the bleed.
    Leave, but take nothing.
    Reflect; remain invisible.

    Memories are not real.
    I am guilty–
    innocent contradictions pour from my sleeves.

Friday, 09 December 2011

  • Subtle Sounds

    Catatonia caresses the mind,
    a convincing case for catharsis,
    but it's just a record skipping.
    Blink twice, be gone.
    Think ice, abscond.

    Time tears a hole in tender,
    healing through turbidity,
    but it's just a clock ticking.
    Fast love, move slow.
    Undone, low blow.

     

  • What's Left of Us

    Your mouth went spinning
    like a top, fell
    off the table--
    Stupid, stopped.
    Circular sound,
    you're an echo,
    a noise's memory.

    I'm a ball of yarn,
    unraveling as I roll around.
    I'll be a thread
    before I stop.
    Less dense,
    I lose substance;
    soon I'll disappear.

     

Thursday, 08 December 2011

Saturday, 03 December 2011

  • Skeleton Home

    I keep clutching this key--
    a skeleton doorkeeper
    to this place we call(ed) home.
    I feel barely alive
    holding it and
    holding it and
    holding it in.
    A skeleton of skin--
    please let me back in,
    or at least let me cover my eyes.

    The end
    (of what?) is near,
    and to it I do rush,
    though my heart flaps weakly
    like a fish between my two lungs--
    drowning in all the air
    heavy with all the memories.

    I'm saying goodbye
    not knowing the depth of why,
    but soon I'll collide
    with division--
    separate skull from spine--
    leave this persistence behind.

     

Saturday, 26 November 2011

  • Upward Anchor

    One step—
    Take one step in another direction—
    Forfeit reality.
    Gaunt faces— bruised—
    Specters, mere shadows—
    Are you the skeleton?

    They haunt you like ghosts;
    Sheer days and translucent ways.
    Your names are numbered,
    And it's within the lucidity
    That you find your sound—
    Your chord in the gnomon.
    But once the display fades,
    Where will your colors remain?

    I see stairs upon the reign.
    Climb tiers, fake a smile— feign—
    Or shall you at once descend
    To such lofty depths,
    The colors are squeezed from view—
    Bleached and bone-new.
    Life resembles desert,
    And heat sticks you to the sand.
    Lost, and what you can
    Turns into notorious bland.

    But your spine was a spiral staircase—
    Climbed up and into your skull,
    Felt the way your smile feels
    Pulled across teeth.
    Such mechanics anchor me
    Towards a skyward ethereal pull.
    This simplicity draws a line
    From my chin to the sky.

    And so between such mesmerizing sets
    I sway
    With no decision but to stay.

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

  • Ocean Melt

    The night looms outside my window,
    pressing its face against the glass like a greedy child--
    midnight blue and hues of dark lavender.
    Slip into a sleep-like state,
    where lucidity occurs to me as a sound:
    ringing gongs and heavy bells;

    it's here that I found you,
    sleeping in the leaves.
    Your face matched the night:
    purple and dark blue.
    You had bled the night through,
    and opened up your mouth to say it true,
    but you stopped before you knew.
    Tears and years rolled off of your face;
    I felt you breathe and sob,
    and I knew,
    oh I knew what then I had to do.
    So I held you tight and gave you room to shed your fears.

    So here I lay now remembering you,
    gone and gone away.
    I feel nothing but heavy--
    nothing but blue.
    I will keep here
    in the space between sleep and death,
    so long as my heart keeps limping.

Thursday, 17 November 2011

  • Hospice

    Sorrow soaks inside,
    numbs all but the shell.

    Now I feel like just a pair of eyes
    [I'm not here]

    Their presence taps on shoulders,
    alerts us to a smile that's been gone awhile,
    but now soothing and moving on—

    have to believe that.

    Bubbles break silence—
    waiting, culminating, staying.
    Unacknowledged promises,
    but the maker knows they're made.

    Stealing before the cold set in,
    but guilt is a past tense
    felt by those not so hollow—
    not invisible.
    Shapeless, so blend into the scenery.

    It's strange how that works,
    because it so obviously doesn't belong.
    But continuity occurs through apathy—
    turned on like a faucet.
    [no consequences]

    Towel dry, don't ask why—
    more like how—
    wash my hands of everything.

    Clean and empty,
    unseen and uncaring,
    separate but indistinct,
    invisible and vague;
    an old memory—

    but for her I will.

     

SundaySex

  • Visit SundaySex's Xanga Site
    • Name: Caro
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 1/4/2006
    • True

Archives

Don't worry - your calendar is here… to see it in action just click "Save" above and refresh the page.