Hand in Sand

Inevitability shall run its course and the courier shall bleed out and turn to dust. Eternity is vast and complicated by human hubris and bloodshot pride. The bullet resting in the chamber is getting more than bored as the sun sets on another dysfunctional day. The bird struck the mouse and no one will ever know his name, no one will ever really care that there is no name. God it’s so damn feeble and fleeting, much like a star shooting its way across an open night sky, burning so bright, only to fade away.

Calm yourself… breathe deep and feel the air…  focus on the rush of the blood… bathe in the rush of life.

I would be here if I wasn’t there and I may possibly not push at all, if all you ever did was pull. Because the middle ran dry and was laid bare before the desert sun. The wind and sand wore the smiling thing down into unrecognizable stone and bone. A single petal from the first bloom could have saved the mind.  It would have saved the mind. It should have saved the mind.

So fight the burning hole pulling you beyond current vision. Understand that you will never understand and continue to blindly hate. I was what they made and nothing in between. So I stand apart from you because you can’t handle the reaper hanging around my head. It’s written plainly in my seemingly “passionate” eyes. A mystery wrapped in black and accompanied with crimson subtitles. You will never know for you shall never see… this vast black hole… that has swallowed the core in me.

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My Kiddie Pool

Home becomes a distant promise as the sand increases its speed daily. Children of his blood stand abandoned and alone in an empty wasteland. The choking has begun as brittle bones slowly begin their collapse into the roses of yesterday. The villain captured the victim and with Frankenstein like brilliance, fused the poor bastard into his mind. Fresh perspectives and broken faith cause a sense of twisted euphoria in the shade cast from death’s perilous shadow. What is there for the weakened when all that’s left is a broken promise made in heated embrace?

And when the venom was flowing he felt the fangs pumping it into his open heart.  Worn like a traitors mark upon his open sleeve he dreamed of drifting through torn airwaves and open streams. She held his hand with a grip built upon an urgent need burning inside her torn heart. She led him through the crimson bath and opened the door to his redemption. The bullet tore a hole through the open door as broken waves crashed upon a desolate shore. Betrayed by convictions and closed faith, there’s no smile he can find beyond this shaded empire. Paint the clown in plain view and they still never seem to fucking see you. They can keep the truth locked and bound but they will never manage to fully cage light.

So keep your crimson bloodshed and shove it straight up your ass. You know nothing of truth and honesty nor love. It’s a broken concept in the light of your self-righteousness and your hypocritical crowns. Take your golden treasure and burn it while you hit your knees in prayer for your souls safe return. Remember the eye? The eye of a needle? Remember the meek are that way because you can’t break the unimaginable. You can’t grip dreams in your hands nor burn hope away. So bash the flesh and disguise the plan. Keep your coffers closed and hold the worlds salvation hostage behind gold-plated doors and granite walls. The Lord cares nothing for your buildings of brick and bone. Love is his currency and forgiveness and judgement are his offerings alone to give. He hears me when I cry, and he shall also embrace me when I die.

 

Emotional Wreckage

Scattered thoughts much like ashes splinter and are blown away. The focus is growing within the revolving shadow and is drifting further and further into the black. Whispered prayers are forced and pushed past walls of regret and crimson shame. Humanity is philosophy and shameful in its voracious hunger and selfish brooding thoughts. There’s no room for redemption in the land of the saved and the perpetually damned, no resurrection available to the dirty and shamed. Tears flow like butterflies in the blooming spring air and the ocean changes pace with the moon.

The heat was assaulting with a side order of twisted desire and sweat flowed freely. The mountain gave way as industry pushed its crooked way through its rocky heart. There’s a warm wind caressing his naked chest as the whole world dreams away the gorgeous night. The fresh scent of the rain is interrupted only by the hint of peppermint whispers and hay fever screams. A moment spent in quiet contemplation as the blood slowly drys across the flesh covering his bitter heart. The door closed ever so softly that day and his heart cracked to the rhythm of the falling rain.

Three times two in triplicate. He died a hundred different ways in the time it took for her to paint on the worlds face. The knife was sharp and the wound clean. The bullet was as straight as the aim was true. The fall was frightening yet strangely exciting. The water was warm and embraced every inch of his airless lungs. Bridge the gap between love and death and you may still end up on your knees alone in the rain. Freak occurrences and ridiculous options turn into images of normality, leaving the stomach churning. Scent memory can never lie, but no matter. No matter at all. After all, he only ever misses her when it rains.