Is it magical
my obsession
of imagination?

I dream of dark stones
engraved with green glowing
long lines flowing
showing the ancient texts
of druid spells.

I imagine soft puddles
infused with
more magic
then most could handle
as white fire
flows fiercely
from thin lines
that connect
beneath the wet surface
looking almost like
the neural pathways
of my overactive brain.

Sleeping I dream of
orgiastic fires
that consume
everything in my room
with a lustful passion
whilst passing
my serene sleeping form.

It is preposterous
there is no point to this
trifecta of
waking and sleeping dreams
other than their functioning
of distracting or enlightening me,
bating my better nature
to expand itself
inspiring me to elevate my consciousness
through the explorations
of whatever wonderful what ifs
and never was realities cont.
that come to me.

Her beauty broke my brain.
Short hair, ***** blond
soft to the touch
which is what I longed
to do.

It is a thing of confusing dimensions
but she made my heart
stranger then abstract art.
The pink and purple petals
melted like liquid metal
then dripped like pastel paints,
diluting the cool blue pool
with strange smoky colors
that mirrored my pleasurable pain.

She crushed my skull
on glittering stones
before the steps that descend
deigning by design to end
in my workplace parking lot.

Slender figure form
with slightly sagging sections,
but she was strange and enticing
delicious as cake icing
and I was oh so hungry.

Yellow stained
and chipped teeth
she was so sickly sweet
and addicting
like candy ****.
With her strange personality
loving Star Wars fantasies
and all those horror movies
she stole
my dignity and self-control
swallowing the remnants
of a painfully broken soul.

I proclaim
to an unnamed
friend
that I’m so tired
of walking,
but even though
I complain
about the pain
of my tender feet
it is in these
small journeys,
of an hour or more,
in which I explore
my thoughts
and soft surroundings,
that reinvigorates me
poetically.

It is a gush
of cultish greed
that sees me seed
these gray streets
with cement
and litter.

Searching for
the stars that glitter
in commercials
and window shops,
the tyranny
of humanity
swells in my heart.

Callus to the collective
because of the things
I seek to collect.

Then with each purchase,
and each pleasure pill
I use to conceal
the depths of
what I truly feel
I lose
a piece of
the empathy
I once cherished
and loved.

Till, my leather worn face
turns bitter
and the last of my humanity
escapes me
because of poor scheduling.

There is paper
in the fire,
white sheets
bloated with
ink blot thoughts.
Some are dismissed
while others are lost.
Scattered ashes
spread beyond
the blinking
blank canvass
of human consciousness.

Partial photographic evidence
charred and cracked
kills her once
serene complexion.
Red hair
turns to
orange flares
that only leave
more ash there.

A crumpled notebook
of diary sheets
scream its loss
out to me
in silent pleas.
Till it pops,
crackling
like dry leaves burning.

Outside this
field of fiery grief
there is a
cool bluish black night
beckoning me
into its amnesiatic relief.

They rack my brain
with loss and pain
so I take this rage
and start again.

Crack my spine
and break my back
I will not stop.
Tare me in half
explode my heart
don’t make me laugh,
I will not stop.
I will not fall.
I will not drop.
I will not crawl.

I’ll keep on running.
I’ll keep on rising.
Even if I lose it all
cause I’ve lost before.

I will not stop.
I may cry.
I may eat poison,
but Ill sweat it all off,
till, the day I die.

It is the only salt water
that eclipses the sea,
****** sailing grifter
that took a dump on me,
the cold breeze
that does not chill
or even freeze
but stops all things
permanently.

It is the shuddered breath,
dripping drool
from the tripping fool
who fell to fast
when he found out at last,
a shade of red
not dropping crimson pools
but stiff sniffles
that require tissues
for us to use.

It is the one thing promised
for as long as we live,
as death comes to claim
the ones we love.

Until, time takes its turn
and our loss
makes others burn.

He will suckle
and spit
drinking blood
from your ****.

He will spread your legs
and leave
an unprotected present
deposited
past your ****
once he climaxes.

He will claim your womanhood
and demand that you submit
to his weakness,
calling his faults
dominance and confidence.

He will prey upon
ancient insecurities,
that subconscious programming
because you do not know
your own binary coding.

He will trick you into
drinking your resistance away,
plant his pin *****
in your fertile crescent,
and if you try to erase
that lifelong mistake
he will claim
that you are a sinner.

Subdued you will
sublimate your will
and fulfill
fifties sitcoms
housewife fantasies
for a family,
sacrificing all your dream
for the man who schemes
to enslave you.