Lift

Gold dust fades on a broken apology.
Lifting away from these dreams, burying the night.
Cut strings and porcelain.
Drifting away from such demons.
Escaping the snap of nightmares and reality.
Those wishes were heavy, pulling down my soul.
Lift into a neon blue, a heady place where dreams have died.
Part truth, part ghost.
Rosaries spin on the motor heart, forcing me upward.
Sky west and crooked.
Linking into the distance within your eyes.
My heart went out to you, threatening heaven.
Promising to belong, two steps out of this world.
Blurring into a memory and rolling down the windows.
Rolling into the arms of love.
Stuck somewhere in between.

Keeping the skeletons subdued

Once, when it was too late.
They slipped in to carry our innocence away.
Stealing our tomorrows with sacks on their backs.
They told us to go west to paradise.
Look up, and think of eucalyptus.
Not these pale blue eyes that drag you to the ocean floor.
A watered grave where your dreams erode like a pebble on the riverbed.
Dressed us in sweet words as they stripped our skin.
Wiping away everything. No fingerprints on our souls.
That great American hero. That angel in the night with the candle burning.
They kept the strings pulled tight.
Bunched and preened us.
Our daffodil heads blobbing in the winds of subjugation.
They touched us deep and unwelcomed.
Feeling up our virtue like a priest would.
Filthy fingers around our bones and hearts.
Stunted our growth.
Licked at us with arthritic tongues, soaking us with erosive saliva.
They hold us still, keeping us in the storm.
As the nightmare rages on.

Little terrors

Once upon a night, when his mother had gone to bed.
Sam took a loaded gun, and aimed it at his head.
He did this for reasons that were many and few.
And you would have done the same, if only you knew.
What had become of Sam and the nightmares in his brain.
The horrors that sped into his soul, faster than a train.
He had tried to subdue them, pretending they weren’t real.
But they’d come all the same, leaving no other appeal.
But to end his life and to disappear completely.
So he tied up his world, and ended it so neatly.
He closed his bedroom door, and took a sip from his glass.
Placed it on the table, then watched the clock till ‘quarter past.
The midnight hour, when the ghouls were at their most.
The demons that terrorized him. The sad haunting ghosts.
He placed the gun in his hand, shot once after praying.
Fell to his knees, as another innocent slaying.
For Sam wasn’t mad, and he wasn’t even crazy.
Sometimes he was wrong, and definitely lazy.
But the devil was alive and well, and spoke to him every hour.
Wanted him to do these things, and made his dreams so sour.
But Sam was just unhappy, and mentally possessed.
And he saw this his only ending, because he was so depressed.