Tag: art

  • The Embrace

    As the air fills with smoke, the haze nudges my body awake. warm sensations at a slow rumble, morphing into hot air,  it’s almost dirty, I say.  each orifice pulsating,  vile heat, dry heat  a reptilian existence.  The physical world tilts,  as halting revelations crystallize, the psyche exist in pieces of stray paper notes, content…

  • Underneath

    Questions, loiter at the steps of mind. Thicket of clouds drape on shoulders, A weary heaviness blooms.  Bones quake, the weight, Jarring. Knees buckle,  as the restless rumble,  feeds rumination.  Mantra like,  peeling at the purity,  the sanctity of it all.  Looming, It asks, Incessantly,  If I continued on my quest for true self expression,…

  • Jitters

    Emptiness,Speaks,Volumes.Tendrils of nausea creeping.As white teeth of anxiety morph into a smile,Internal,Taunting.You smile, too.Yes,Bright, white, open, wide.For Fear,Only hidden beneath layers.

  • My Type Writer Arrived From Germany…

  • My Crayon Box

    It comes in waves,  Elation,  Apathy,  All mixed up like a box of old crayons.  Nubs here of primary blue,  There of canary yellow,  It spilled.  And as it came crashing,  A release, Myriad of thoughts.  Pawns for the ultimate goal of self immolation.  I collect each stick one at a time,  Placing it back…

  • Let’s Dance

    Lingering touch on waistDeep brown eyes pull me in, closeSublime delight, dance Body burning, whispering Come open Pandora’s box

  • Unrequited

    Where the sun meets sea A place of utmost desire  Fleeting touches, twice  Heavy melancholy drapes As deep as the oboe hums  

  • The Gaze

    It was the way you looked at me, With such intensity, Those pools of dark cessation, Eaten Alive, The crow calls. Waves of enigmatic energy, Screeching for an understanding, Reaching into the depths of my being, Needing to be heard, The last petal drops. Desperation rising, But what could it be? My frame slouching inward,…

  • It Comes Full Circle

    Laying in bed,  Its pitch black out,  Maybe 4am.  I don’t have my glasses on, so I can’t see much.  Shapes of what things should be. Pin dots, Growing larger and smaller. Continuous. The lamp on the left is off.  I feel it,  Looming pain.  Thinking about growing up.   My mother’s face comes into…

  • Her face

    Remorse courses through, When I look into your eyes, Mirroring feelings.