Turn around

Cupping ghost dreams in my hands.
Small and transparent like memories for old lovers.
The turning tide of the wastelands.
Cast in iron, and weighted down.
Bad dreams and crystal sleeps.
Resting on that frozen lake.
Going over and over again.
Like that midnight train of desertion.
Fumbling with the broken toy in my hands.
Bloody from the beats per minutes.
And sorrow per second.

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Insipid

The world is bored with the grey on your eyelids.
Floating down to cover us in an avalanche of despair.
Those tearing blacks that rip through your eyes when they shut.
Filling your soul in the soup of soured dreams.
Stewed and stuffed in our age of apathy.
It grows weary.
It spins and turns over, melting the poles and freezing the pacific to see where the birds will fly to at winter.
Or if they fly at all.
Dizzied and covered in the flakes of sorrow you proffer.
Give us the rains. Ones to wash away the rainbow hue of a dream that never flew.
Take it from us like an ice cream from a child.
This notion of static. The none moving motion you freeze yourself in.
Cracked like the world’s crust, oozing like the yoke of birth.
Seal your eyelids with the starry saliva of the angels.
Who whisper times of change as they lick at your ear.

Spectator to the storm

That storm inside rises.
Growing high like the heat of the dead.
A multitude of atoms, releasing their own chaos.
Chasing tails and stolen sunbeams.
Within this languished heart a quell resides.
But it will not come.
The dam will not break to let you in again.
Causing such consequence.
Your holy war against all but which you call divine.
Once awed breath, that now freezes on my hearts windowpane.
A forgotten wisdom, lost in the jungle of your mind.
So travel, not under my door, but down the valley.
Into the sweet flowers of spring.
That turn your repetitious gales into a gentle breeze.
That tickle the hairs on the back on my hand.

Too cold for snow

Caught in the teardrop, that’s trapped in time.
Shivering into something unfamiliar.
These bite marks plague me still.
Itching my skin like memories.
If you just let me go.
Watch me walk into that dying star.
Into the fire.
So encased in fear. This icy realm of apathy.
Too hurt to start again.
Too tired of being tired.
Looking at the grey sky in your eyes as you whisper.
It’s too cold for snow.

White out

Counting September’s smile.
Through the cracks in her teeth.
The gaps in the earth that let me in.
Bark stripped and predicted.
Rushing memories through me like electrolytes.
Treading sacred steps though time
Within the cells of mother earth.
Help me to the surface, to gulp the air of immortality.
For I choose the waters that I’m in.
Bringing down the reign.
Throwing flowers at the seasons, hoping they stick.
Waiting for winter’s incumbent snow.
Lodged forever in this tender heart.
White out. Breathe.

Polar warming

You cannot put out this fire, the dreams ignite every night.
Laying here, disappearing into you and loosing myself.
I came from the north, closer to the stars.
Falling down and free to where you find me.
Out of climate, out of touch.
The desire is making a fool of me as I watch the world spin by in a trance like blur.
Put your gun on the table, let us watch the northern lights.
Kiss me quick then blow my mind.
Throw your ice cubes in the sea and save me.
I’m not like the others, this is something you must understand.
I’m everything you’ve ever needed, and everything you’ve never wanted.