platonic years insurrected by civil wars (again)

one girl hit by lightning (again)

x-rays of her broken limbs painted from memory

caught between flintlock and fossil

with a just-sleepy-enough, narcotic feeling

his ghost in the sock drawer

his odd fingerprints on her luggage

the wilt of flowered books

full of wide-eyed selfies

and running scared old love letters
(or were they death threats?)

all roadblocks to her star-shaped chemical world

until her coup d'état falls helplessly into the sea (again)

The flame
In his chest
The same
To the rest
But twisted
As he was
Blessed
But gifted
With inferiority
And was horribly
Conflicted
Of the message
He was meshing
With the decrepit
Feeling
Of his fleeting
Half stepping
To the
Recollections
Of his blessings
That he was tempted
To dissect
From the crowd
Inflicted
Despite the
Shroud
Of clouded
Bouts
Torn from
The panicked ****
Of the phobias
He knew they were scared of
And glared
Right through them
Before he opened up
His coat
And started shooting
Proving
Others wise
In the silent
Reprise
Of 45's
And nines
He smiled
In the exile
Of fear
Escaping
Through
The fading
Lights
Of dying eyes
In the wild
Surmise
That with each
Trigger squeeze
Eased him
Into shame
As he
Aimed
To please
For the release
Of lives
Crawling
For the
Finished
Lines
And in gorgazmic
Slitherings
He delivered
The final blows
With power ups
And scores
Progressing
The killing
As he reloads
With shrilling
Grins
And stints
Of compassion
Fashioning
The rationed
Satisfaction
He received
From the screaming
Mothers and babies
Brothers and maybes
Splattering
On the plastic trees
Of escalators
And skeezes
That laid shuttering
Headless
Upon the exits
Of his
Insurrected mind
And he was just fine
With dying
In kind
And he was just fine
Shining from
The shrine
Of Santa
In a sonata
Of solidarity
To the led
Soldering morals
In a story
Of victory
And of
Personal glory
For the lords
Of defeat
Seething
In the completeness
Of a defeatist
As he stuck
The heaters
In his mouth
And was out
Without
One doubt
As to what
Nothing
Means

Everything disintegrates.
One realization leads to another epiphany.

Where I had once assumed my world lied,
Now my thoughts lie,

but I don't cry.
No longer do I cry.

None left to defy,
And no wings left to fly,

Once again, I've become who I hate,
What I hate.

When I am discontent with my presentation,
  when I am all that was left for me to become,
  am I resurrected,
  or more likely insurrected,
  stronger, wiser, sexier, more of a gorgeous reality.

I am a winner.
I won that last game;
  that last identity beaten,
  my person is lying on the floor,
  but my soul is not defeaten.

A union of hearts
melds ambition true to how and when we fell
electric chasms create new sparks of life

I’ve dreamt this moment too fast lived before
naïve and vulnerable I found my strength

the air fills the void of how I’ve longed for you
we meet again at the interchange of finding meaning
lifelessness, a self-doubt, it bought me death
gaze is all it took

part of you deep within where it counts
The imperfection Caresses
the moisture tension

Feeling static friction, the Primal intention
Buried under sleep where mortals coil
when words null

Heightened senses become insurrected
Ignorant Spectrums fall for a god in dazed apathy
un-availed equivalence to
an outer aura acquiescent  
to the union a manifested eye to our empire sky

slow motion beat to pores that drip synchronicity
that is no longer a day dream away
tasting your body heat