I’m Still Alive
You thought I died?
Or how the indoctrinated say, “unalived”
because they fear the word Suicide.
Slaves to their Gods: “Like,” and “Subscribe”
You thought I died?
I’m like that wicked angel, that fell from God’s side: I have too much pride.
I refuse to run from the burden of life.
A gunshot to shut off the lights is admitting to your enemies that they were right.
I’m still alive, and I have so much still to write.
White Bones
Mirror cracks inside of me, no shimmer.
Black reflected back,
I prented it doesn’t bother me.
The hole it leaves is new to me,
jump down.
Corrosive waves burning me,
strip down.
Revealing all of me:
an endless sea of bones
all white,
all former me.
Up above, I’m banging at a glass.
Down below, I see the mirror start to crack.
As I corrode into a sea of bones, it dawns on me:
this search for light has gone on endlessly.
This pit of white grows with every passing me.
UnForgotten Words
Smiling electric teeth speak to me like flames through iron.
Blank and absent eyes scan past me, darkly.
All black, but they’re sight burns towards pyres inspired, unbeknownst to me.
Seeing more of me than I deserve to be.
Birthing new meaning and scope,
New artworks and hope.
I smile back, happy for words unforgotten.
Living Fast
I need to let go of the rope
undo the knot at my throat
step down,
and plant both feet on the ground
Life piled high,
in such a short amount of time
waiting to be buried in a landslide
Let off the gas
and stop living so fast
it’s not a race where the loser dies last
but an endurance game, that resets every day.
Cycle
Piranhas swimming in a sea of me,
eating all the light I see.
Worms crawling deep in me,
in the pits of restless sleep.
Having lost all sense of peace
doesn’t mark the end of me
even when there’s nothing left
a second me starts to breath:
I come alive,
as a rite,
and devour all the parasites.
Strange Dreams Follow Me
Future pleas follow me inside forgotten dreams.
Warning me while I sleep that my death is soon to be.
It shows me a world, visceral, and full of thorns: I’ll be torn.
and yet I ask for more
because my dreams also reveal my inner soul.
Tonigh I dreamt it sprouted horns. . .
Time Alive
Time plays like a soul.
It’s alive, and wants to grow.
The pull of when and where to go
shared amongst like minded tombstones.
But time defies
gets no afterlife.
It sheds the past,
like a snake.
Dead stars in its wake
unable to escape
the pull of its cosmic fate
Time plays an endless game
it plays like a soul,
wishing it could fade away.