Tag Archives: future

Trying New Things

There’s never a time when trying new things is not exciting. Recently I’ve been trying many new things, as much as possible. I’ve started writing more short stories, or perhaps excerpts of stories based on the influences I see in the world around and the work of others. Personally I think this new one is neat-o. Be warned though, it is pretty gross. Horror warning. Please enjoy.

A Man Would Scream

What am I? Trapped in a hell that feels simultaneously my own and one created by yet another monster, I scream and cry and gasp until that last little bit of air comes out. My words are cut short; my rending howls transform, slowly, into that low, uncompromising, pitiful gurgle. Perhaps if one saw my putrid, broken form, this mass of stinking flesh and hateful decay, perhaps they might believe there is a man left within. They might believe there is something left to save. There is nothing.

I am screaming. I am screaming and yet I have no mouth, no eyes, no face. I am but a featureless mass, resigned to and constrained by a fate which an unjust God has set upon me, only that when it is wolves that descend upon you in the forest do you get to die. The soft, agonizing gurgle they hear coming from this pile of meat that once was me is both my only release and my eternal torment. I do not even know that you are there.

For all eternity, it must be remembered. Those sins which I have done. Those evils which I have wrought, piercing me over and over like a Tailor who just can’t get the patch right. There is no penance for the deeds I count among mine. I deserve this. I deserve to suffer.

Leave me be, for I am not a man.

Turn The Page, Open The Door

Not much to say today but good afternoon! I hope everyone’s having a wonderful pride month and is getting outside as much as possible. Please enjoy the poem today, friends.

Phases

Does your heart trace a thousand laces?

Does your heart lie and die in knots?

And it rots as you can tell by the spots?

Does your heart pace a thousand places?

Wondering and dundering,

ever the old fool?

Whose tool you break and shake like a fool?

Does your heart race a thousand races?

Fiddling and falling in broken arms and torn heels?

Spinning and spooling, of fate, those wheels.

Perhaps, this time, you’ll be the one that steals.

Things of Glass and Ire

Good morning, friends! Lost souls and faceless monsters cry out from the deep, hoping and praying for a respite from their torrid fate. They sing their ghastly hymns and haunt their hallowed haunts, awaiting someone who will never come to take them away to a place they’ll never go. Heaven seems a place just out of reach. Please enjoy the poem.

The Faceless One

The faceless one

so watches in the mirror

as fog covers eyes

so he cannot see

and as fog covers his mouth

so he cannot speak.

“I have no face, yet I must be!”

he cries into the darkness.

Now if only words came out

and anyone could hear them.

He’ll move his hands to where his nose should be,

feeling nothing but a smooth facade,

knowing not the way he breathes

and ending with a somber nod.

How broken is the machine

when probing diagnostics

find no extant diagnosis

and all there is to show

are fields of broken things

and the tips of deftly clipped wings?

As the fog closes in,

it gets harder to breathe.

Esoteric Ablutions

Hiding, secretly, covertly under the stairs, you think of ways to wash yourself. Sitting there, on a dusty mattress, pondering your cleanliness. No matter how many times you wash your hands… How can you be sure? Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Interregnum

Peridot and periwinkle,

pox and pax romana,

pleat and pedigrees,

all words that come to mind

and rest within that little wrinkle.

I do so miss

feeling that feeling,

the one I knew

could never last.

Perhaps you’d like to study

that peculiar way a heart shatters,

how the impact velocity

and momentum

change the shape of shards.

Maybe then you’ll find

what it is you’re looking for.

It’s funny,

in that funny little way

that things always are,

the way I know.

You think I don’t hate the way my mind works?

The way it bends and twists

and flexes and breaks,

over and over and over again,

spiraling down into the abyss,

locked forever

in phantasmic bliss.

Fleeting and illusory.

Perhaps two words

that in practice

would be found contradictory,

for how can a thing be fleeting

when it didn’t exist in the first place?

To be loved

is surely so

to be lost as well

upstream

without a paddle

heading towards the falls,

only there is no river down below,

but blackness

stretching down and down.

Throw a rock

and you’ll never hear the sound.

You’ll Know

There’s something in us, I think. Something that tells us. Something that lets us know. On the inside, it can often be hard to parse through the noise of anxieties and fears to find out what your body is really telling you, but it always knows. Please enjoy, everybody!

When It’s Right

You’ll know when it’s right.

It’ll feel like buttery silk

and electric velvet.

It’ll feel like the covers

on a cold, cold night

filled with snowflakes.

It’ll feel like holy hearts

and hallowed hands

that hold on

just a little too tight.

It’ll feel like walking with the waves

but with no sand

stuck between your toes.

It’ll feel like flying up and through the sky,

like writing songs that never die

and speaking up but never shy.

I think you’ll know

when it’s right.