Parcel

Dry as parchment, splinters torn and reborn, clawing at a self unimagined.

Paralyzed in a box. It's confines split and repaired in a cycle bridging eternity.

Beyond lies worlds of plural possibility, a singsong duality of parceled hope to contents unrepairable

Whisps of dreams are more appealing than reality.

What she can have she doesn't want.

And what she wants, can she have?

Time is nothing to her. Life is not short but an aching groan of seconds that only threaten to become hours.

Thus, she chooses life in a box, settled in a teacup, overlooking a wasteland of everything that she doesn't know how to get.

Sunshine

I have built this kitsch eyesore out of others words.

A labyrinth to clutch feigned normalcy.

Entangled in it's jagged spires, I become lost.

A fading illusion was the best I could contrive. Did you like it?

Like thorns, I bleed onto wire cutting beyond flesh, into very essence.

I could drag the shards upon your flesh, carve my screaming futility into your bones.

I could burn your pretty world. Take you down to scorch earth and ember.

As equals standing in ash, you would understand.

Or I could simply shatter, dissipate into formless void.

Vapor to reform into mass, once again excited to greet the dawn.

I can no longer mindlessly stack these shards of glass pretending this is happiness.

Nor can I eschew my originality and waltz in this vapid parade.

I crave to taste my own madness and let it warm my skin like sunshine.

Burn away all this fecund horror devouring me without joy.

And I surrender to the monster in the stairwell

no more...

Never

Never

again.

Wolf

Evolution, my dear Darwin, is more than theory. We evolved from satirical machinations of human whimsy until the only divide existed solely in the inner sanctum of our minds. A full moon is just a moon. Our beast and claws remained within. We became clandestine monsters moving amongst the masses. We watched you and observed the cloying self indulgent peril of your emotions. Incapable of such drama, your human puppet show amused us greatly. Others scoffed, but I began to see humanity as more than deluded primates over romanticizing their most base urges. In one in particular, I saw kindness and I hungered. Myth pervades that we mate for life, we are merely selective. I saw you as beautiful and worthy. Fangs concealed, I submitted to you not as omega but an alpha to it's equal. I almost believed that I could be more, beguiled by the illusion of your words. I thought could join your masquerade with your mortal hand in mine. I can almost taste your blood as I read your hastily scrawled goodbye. The cruelty of what I am claws to the surface with each pen stroke. There were times I tried to warn you, to flee from you for your own good. Daydream can't coexist with nightmare. I knew better. We fuck, we howl and we hunt. A part of me hopes, that you know how to run.

Panic Attack Poetry Theater

Something I wrote while actually having a severe panic attack. I'm amazingly functional in my almost constant state of panic.

Her brain is not rage, but a quilt made of fear.

It doesn't make sense and it does make sense.

He wants to save her.

He tries.

He picks at the stitching, makes holes for her to breathe.

It works, until she suffocates again.

One day her heart will burst and fade.

She will drown him in her soul.

A Very Zombie Valentine's Day

Acceptance, it's a hard thing to find in this world. Our friendship worked. I needed a confidant, a non judgmental companion. You needed sociopath who could rip the heart out of a zombies chest in two seconds flat. The natural attraction between male and female lingered. Yet, neither of us wanted mess up the core of our friendship despite the worlds apocalyptic state. We took up with religious nuts, new pilgrims amidst death. Not because we agreed with their cloying theology. They were simply human and that was rare. They didn't like us. But, it was hard to ignore a bitch with a Hello Kitty Ak-47 and her male sidekick. I provided protection, you came with the package. Thus, we were allowed to stay. I had hoped you could find someone to drag down into the cesspool of your desires. I hated that you were lonely, in need. I knew a killing machine could never provide the things you wanted. The pious were not so easily swayed. Machiavellian wheels turned. You teased me when I started the book club. I let you believe I had taken in interest in Oprah Winfrey's taste in literature. The fact that I had torched the zombie cunt with a flame thrower for attempting to eat Liam Neeson was somehow lost on you. I found a house with electricity and that pleased you. You knew you were receiving a gift. You were puzzled to find out the bag of Orville Redenbacher I had popped was not your intended present. This now archaic delight was mine alone. With a smirk, I revealed my book club, naked, gagged and bound. A flogger and a set of knives, was the only explanation you needed. Ak-47 in hand, I settled by the window. This Valentines was to be a special day not to be sullied by any shambling corpse. You had watched me behead, torch and obliterate hearts in a shower of bullets with quiet awe. I found your sexuality just as fascinating. I ate my popcorn and watched absorbed. When betrayed eyes met mine and a trembling ungagged voice begged to know "Why?" I felt no need to divulge the truth to these so called literates. How could I explain the importance of true friendship? Instead, I coldly backhanded her and replied "Because you made me read Tuesdays with Morrie you fucking bitch!" Sociopaths hate that touchy feely shit!

The Messenger

The moment she breathed, black birds of every kind filled the sky. Her every step was haunted by rook, raven and crow. The wizard seduced her like a dream, beheading her the moment his flesh parted hers. In that act he trapped her in torture. She became pain immortal, never to know pleasure. She lived as his slave, his messenger, carrying her severed head in her arms. Until one day their inky forms blotted out the sun. She closed her blue eyes and thanked them for their mercy. Carried by feathered wing they froze her soul in the wastelands. As their claws released she shattered. Her body transformed into glistening particles of ice drifting towards the glowing sunlight of oblivion.

Surviving the Apocalypse

A tumble weed drifts past. I'm chasing motes of dust that dance in the light.

I'm waiting for you.

All of you.

I'm watching you say you're busy. I hope it's true.

I do believe you.

Although, sometimes I don't.

I just can't fathom such a life.

I'm sitting in an empty living room.

I'm watching the clock tick. Trying to stay busy. Trying not to go mad.

I'm drifting in this apocalyptic dream in a bed of holly.

And I'm waiting for you.

There's some secret world out there I'm not apart of.

I suspect it can only be true. Christmas, New Years, Thanksgiving.

It's out there waiting for you.

But, not for me. I just can't make it happen. Even though I try.

All I have is time. It does not pass quickly.

I can only wait.

And I'm waiting for you.

My email box becomes mostly empty. An occasional short note flows in.

Other forms of contact dwindle.

I try to tell myself I haven't lost what little I had.

I try not to run. Fuck, I want to run. I want to run from the waiting, the wondering and fear.

I want my thoughts to shut off. Let silent music flow in.

Then you all come back and I forget why I ever thought running was a good idea.

I wait with a painted smile.

Sometimes, I believe it, even feel it.

I'm even happy sometimes.

Then, I want to go to sleep. Shut my eyes on this empty life.

Simply not wake up.

I ache for nonexistence.

But, I'd never do anything.

I'm a coward.

I'm trying to find my way out. Trying to find what ever it is you have.

It drains me. I almost can't take it.

What comes so easily to you. Makes me so tired.

I hurt inside trying, but I am trying.

And I know it's almost over. One more holiday to go.

Then the still life painting will shift and glitter again.

Until then I'm wrecked upon the shore.

And with a smile. I make the best of it.

And I wait for you.