Writings of a creature
My poems that I interpret as done
The labyrinth twists with its walls alive,
etched with fragments of forgotten faces.
The corridors shift,
reshaped by the weight of memories
screeching their way to the surface.
Shadows obscure each turn,
and monsters lurk;
born of heartbreak, despair, and yearning.
They hunt without rest, devouring wishful whispers
that echo through the endless, shifting maze.
Amidst nothingness, the silence rumbles
like crashing waves on distant shores.
Each breath tumbles through the air
like a voice that isn’t there.
The stillness grows, a heavy shroud,
its voiceless weight both soft and loud.
A quiet chaos, it twists and bends,
a cacophony that never ends.
Standing behind the stone-cold counter,
she jams another piece in the squeezer–
The size of a fist – it turns and twists,
extracting her life like a weary weep.
She smiles at a million faces,
but their eyes never meet;
they order and hurl abuses,
like it’s silence they are trying to seduce
At last, lively streets die down –
Another night spent in servitude,
traded for a livelihood.
And the cold midnight wind bites,
chilling her tear-streaked cheeks
as she crawls home.
On a restless night, I caught myself carving in
my flesh another one of your sins.
My skin, splitting apart like the red sea.
revealing beneath, fraying nerves.
A thousand needles pierce through my mind –
no feeling could be this kind.
When you made me duller than my blooded blade
and wishing for nothing but to fade
I watch my reflection in the shower rain,
and the crimson drags the ichor to the drain.
These scars make me wonder – was it all in vain?
Trembling gleam
illuminates her silk silhouette
like the sunrise gracing the mountain,
and a blanket over my cold body.
Her warm fingertips on my skin
burn her name deep within,
flickering light shrouding
our bodies, a new world
They blossom in spring
vulnerable imperfections,
each flaw: a snowflake
conjoined made perfect.
Wild hearts bathed in delight,
dancing desires united,
locked fingers as destinies sealed
by the golden candlelight.
how do I pretend we have never met,
do I pass by you, or do I cross the street?
were you a delusion or was I deluded
thinking that we could,
perhaps be together and not secluded?
you were the grace in my strife,
turned into a disgrace on my life
oh, how I thought this would last,
now you are just a phantom of era’s past.
somedays you have to spend
hearing the birds chirping
spending an afternoon sleeping
brewing a coffee to drink
sinking into your most joyful thoughts –
waiting for the night to fall
inhaling nature’s incense
basking in the silence
on a rocking chair
in a cabin, nowhere
if you would let me
be the air you breathe in
be the soil you step on
be the pain you ache
be the rapture you desire
or suffocate me
break me beneath your feet
mock my scars, tear me apart
deprive me of your fire
yet I vow to be yours
but you won’t be mine
Oh to be treated with such consideration.
An important piece for someone,
such care.
To be used as a stepping stone,
to reach a quick dopamine hit on a lonely night,
to be used like the dirty needle of an addict.
Addict of feeding from your goodwill,
like a beggar that stabs you in the back,
as you put your last coin in their filled pot.
You thought of yourself so important,
but you were just a means to an end.
A quick end,
discarded,
disregarded.
When you are finally over it,
they dust you off make you feel wanted,
make you feel pretty.
Take off all the moss,
all the dirt –
so they don’t get your filthy on their shoes
as they step on you again.
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