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If fear was an entrée, would anger be the appetizer?
Would the sides be distrust, disillusionment, disgust?

Would I still be dancing dead
At the intersection
Where my dreams and smiles fled?

I may very well be
A grievance to all who have lost nothing
Of personal significance.

I may very well be enchanted
By your creeping, tantalizing promises

Promises that amount to nothing more
Than breaking themselves into pieces
And making sure they all look the same.

So that even if I wished
To put them back together,
To make sense of their emptiness
Or my foolishness,

We would all end up together
Blank
Lost
Dispersed
With no one left to blame.

A finger glides down
One more glass window,
Stained with our blood, tears, and spit.

Dream of melancholy,
Why is it that we put ourselves
In thorny, rotten carcasses
Of seeds that have no desire to grow?

Erase me now
Submerge everything else in the constant noise,
Then create your own noise
Just to say you left
And created your own.

Such a fruitless quest for contentment.
Why is it still considered
An option in my mind?

Trying to understand but
You don’t let yourself process it.

Why does your skin rise so,
Like a tide at sea?

The many carcasses
Of your old, discarded selves
Washing up
All in front of you

Such a pretty row.

Oh, how they taunt,
Silently staring
Up at your own
Lifeless form.

Come join us,
They whisper, smiling so grimly.

Such a cordial invite.

And they’re stretching themselves out.
Really, they mustn’t go out of their way.
They pay no heed
Of course.

Oh, their hospitality
Is sickening.

And you’re pulled under,
So disoriented.

Remember!! You scream.

Scream and screech
And let out every shrill cry
Buried inside your being.

You are a primordial force

If they don’t end it now,
It may all stop.
Fully, utterly cease to be.

Dizzy

Nightwalker, skincrawler,
Stuck on you.

Goatskin smooth as
All your lies.
White as
Your eyes
Blind to my pleas

Cries silent as
The lamb that wanted nothing more
Than to fly

And the hawk
Fulfilled its wish.

And somewhere somehow
Some being mistook surrender for freedom.

How gracious,
To be given what you wanted
Only after it no longer mattered.

How kind,
To be released from the earth
By the very thing
That watched you struggle to enter it.