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Tag Archives: death

Just Like Butterflies

               They hover around you for the taking. Like buzzing little bees. No. More like butterflies. You collect them like a child does baseball cards or even fucking comic books. Their strikingly beautiful colors dazzle you and entertain that inner longing for something new. Something beautiful and something strange. They’re bottled and put on display, wings half heartedly flutter against the immovable lid of your compassion, then finally give in and the little creatures tumble down. It’s the wings that so captivate you. The various colors and intriguing patterns keep you dazed and entertained for as long as it takes to look to the jar on your right.

             …..and as I stared into the neon lights I felt the magic of the night. I felt the drift and embraced the pull. Alone and stoned and walking aimlessly, drifting and grifting through alleys and souls. Gift the world and I’d ask for a receipt and a smile, because one was always infinitely more fucking valuable than the other. Then in the end it didn’t matter because chains of loyalty are just that, correct?

              Cotton balls and alcohol and a deep peaceful sleep for the collected. They fall light and quiet and feel a weightless extension of the tweezers. Fix into place and stretch wide the wings. Breathe deep and steady the hands as shaking shall bring only harm. Steady now, gently pierce the thorax and pin into place your most curious infatuation. Just like butterflies.

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Posted by on June 25, 2016 in Paradise Drift, Poems

 

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Ninteen Summers

               The clearing is beautiful and the perfect place for a camping trip. Alcohol and a lack of self control pave the way inside the fractured mind and isolation seems the safest course as it always does. The sky is clear and the stars are the second brightest ever seen, the moon is crescent and seems a sliver of a thing just barely peeking out. There’s a slight breeze flowing and the world is perfect except for one thing. A half soul is not much of a price and even the devil would need to be hard pressed to take the deal. Something seems to be missing from the moment and the grave calls just a little louder than yesterday, promising peace yet only ever promoting fear.

              

 
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Posted by on February 21, 2016 in Paradise Drift

 

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Old Habits

               It creeps inside like a trapped between lie, flexing and brushing as it worms it’s way through. Best defense cast aside and the child is shaking outside in the dark. Tears fall from his eyes as they stare through the wheat stalks, hidden by the innocence of youth behind the negligence of dreams and naive ideas. Staring up and out into the vast unknown, wondering on what wonderful things might be hidden in the countless twinkling lights. The night deepens and the dark becomes threatening. What unknown terrors await to trap and ensnare the unsure and unstable? Shadows flit and fly as his eyes continue their watery dance, all while the stars beckon and the moon forgives.

               His smile is represented in stone. It’s a tricky thing to talk about and even harder to think, when I see his eyes open in terror and then close against the fight. I feel the curse tightening daily and wonder at the theme. Benevolent creator save me from the knowledge of the end, I’m threatened by it daily and fear it always. Like a candle lit in youth and expected to last. Like a kiss from your soul that never lasted long enough. As the wax turns to air and the soul flees from thy side, so shall your smile too one day be represented in stone.

               Life flee me fast. Leave me dazed and completely unaware. Trace me from existence as a dying star. And love me all the more once I’ve gone.

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2016 in Paradise Drift

 

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Bipolar Mine Trap

The kitchen cabinet opens like the curtains on a disgusting play, and inside she is chained up much the same way a rabid dog would be, sitting on her knees with a face covered in running mascara and food. Her moans are pitiful and haunting all at the same time. He closes the cabinet door with tears streaming down his face and turns and walks from the ragged house in the middle of the crooked wood, leaving behind the only thing he never wished to see.

The pistol feels cool and comfortable in the palm of his hand, almost as if it was invented and manufactured for this very purpose. He inhales softly and remembers the cold stone catacombs where he left his childhood wonder entombed. Chemical dreams and restless wandering took over the sandbox and toy soldiers that used to be enough. Medicated and halfway through the point of no return he realizes that he long ago forgot that magic was real and ghosts could kill. His temples are throbbing along to the beat of his weary heart as he places the cold steel against his forehead. The gun clicks upon an empty chamber and he surrenders to the fact that even this he can’t help but screw up.

The faces of long forgotten acquaintances stand in a row on either side of the pathway he finds himself walking down. They smile and greet him with as much empathy and excitement as a porn star would muster in an actual Hollywood production. He can feel the fakeness along with the anger as he finds the brick door and pushes it open slowly. Inside he sees a room adorned with crimson curtains around bricked up windows and a simple bed covered in blood splattered white sheets. Laying in the middle of it so still and gruesome is the one thing that finally holds some kind of emotion for him in this strange land. Her hair is black as the darkest night and her skin as pale as January snow. He moves next to the bed and presses his finger into her wrist. The pulse is faint but clearly there for one such as him to find. He lifts the limp woman into his arms and turns to the door only to find it gone. She is placed lovingly and oh so carefully back onto the bed where he found her and then he frantically searches the four brick walls for a way out. The bricks are as solid as the mortar used to hold them in place, still he punches and slams his body against them until blood coats his hands and bruises decorate his shoulders. Finally he moves back to the bed and the woman so still upon it. He tries to find a pulse, but he already knows there will be none.

Once the tears finally run dry and he is able to pull his face from hers, he turns and sees the doorknob that was not available to him when he so frantically and fanatically had searched for it. It was not available while it would have mattered. Once again he scoops her into his arms, only this time she feels so much heavier and also unbelievably cold. The door opens, and he sees a vast green meadow, stretching on for as far as his eyes can see. A concrete path mars the landscape and seems ridiculously out of place among the shin high grass and wildflowers sprinkled throughout. He follows it for what seems an eternity, with the corpse of the woman he never knew tucked lovingly against his chest, until off in the distance he makes out the faint shape of a tree. It grows as he closes the gap and he sees that the path will end at its base. He hits his knees when finally he reaches the end of the path and sits his precious cargo against the massive trunk. The tree seems to come alive in that moment and opens up to pull the cold corpse into itself. Where the woman once sat, only moments before, there is only bark. He rubs his hand lovingly against it and turns back to the path behind him. His footsteps are heavy and his hands shaky, and all the while he fights the urge to look back.

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Posted by on October 15, 2014 in Paradise Drift

 

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Microburst

The light wind sheds sweet air through the tent as the chilly air numbs the nose. The fire that appeared dead just minutes before bursts into life cascading warmth into the morning.

The demon dressed in gray wades through the open water trailing crimson in his malicious wake. A small smile is curling its way onto his bone white face, almost as if the whole world shall soon be his.

The snake had struck from nowhere entirely too fast. The venom had already eaten away most of his ankle when his internal organs began to fail. Staring out into the vast expanse of sand before him, his crawling ceased as he surrendered to his back. The stars greet his eyes and infinity peels back her eyelids to accept him into her bosom.

A congregation dressed in black and grey gathers at the shore. The small urn is passed amongst those with the wettest eyes. A man with an important looking hat whispers a few words into the heavy wind and sends the ashes of yesterday into tomorrows waters.

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Posted by on September 13, 2014 in Burned.

 

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My Kiddie Pool

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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.

 
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Posted by on August 4, 2014 in Paradise Drift

 

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So I Had A Drink Or Five

skyYou left me defenseless.
Tore me down,
left me senseless.
Falling,
losing control.
Losing it,
giving in to this pull.
Let it take me,
drag me down.
All the way,
I love the sound.
I don’t care,
what have I left.
A broken shell,
with nothing but ashes to sift.
Dripping,
falling,
all the way down,
kissing your lips,
right before I touch the ground.
Dashed,
upon the rocks.
Begging for just a glimpse,
before the door locks.
Click click,
goes the loaded weapon.
I can’t even,
make it to heaven.
Bang bang,
goes the closing door.
Now only cold waves,
crash upon my shore.
Darkness,
dwells here no more.
However, my wings,
never again shall soar.
A victory,
small as me.
A loss,
cold as can be.
Shaking…
Waiting…
Anticipating…
Dreaming…
Screaming…
Shaking…
Waking…
Baking…
Staying…
Laying…
Under skies of eternal blue…
Lost in a memory…
of you…
Jake Sellers ‘at the end
 
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Posted by on December 1, 2012 in Poems

 

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