Tag: melancholia

  • jigsaw daze

    my madness song at
    yellow paper tigers
    stretching from walls
    i arm claw trying
    to find a way out
    all the while
    grinding glass teeth
    & chewing at tinsel

    i have earned my way
    to straw dog state &
    mantic ghosts of that
    neverpast & nevermore, sing:
    shake shake shake dog shake

    an ugly break at mirrors
    in these jigsaw daze
    no one could know
    there would be
    so much
    blood

  • mantra

    ...michael don't dream
    michael don't dream
    michael don't dream
    michael don't dream
    michael don't dream....

  • Twilight aching

    Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash

    She covers me in twilight aching, as filtered by summer leaves. Shadowed within shadows gloaming slips down, descends, pours over me.

    Blind to consequence, she moves through the weald seamless, with feet drifting on wraith. A kiss on my grey lips passing, breath crisp to the taste and pale fingers linger mists on cheek before she wisps away.

    I am wicker-bound by convention though the distance moves well beyond time.

    Flint for my eyes, sharp, though always blind I must be. They scrimshawed my bones to mask the words from me. Lips set to suture, to trap my voice to me.

    Waiting on the fires, mists’ kiss watching, twilight aching over me.

  • neverseen

    spike pierced this
    pulsing gristle
    caged within my ribs
    i cannot stopheart
    this as i ought, nor
    severazor gossamer tethers
    untugging from afar

    all is ache and fugue
    while doves mourn their
    rose-scattered dreams
    in the sometime, i grew shattered
    everaining
    a wraith in neverseen

  • far gone seas

    Photo by Stephane Gagnon on Unsplash
    embracing aether tendril tugs
    while whispering my wishes
    back to me, offering
    drifts in calmer currents
    drifts off to far gone seas

    some days i dream of dying
    others, i know already that i have
    been dying for decades

    just a silver slip and falling
    her arms catch, on gentle wings
    to carry me, bringing
    drifts in calmer currents
    drifts off to far gone seas

  • unhere

    unhere
    for comfort
    for beauty —
    these sores weep
    rosegardens in rains
    stained in blood

    at the funeral they
    will look back laughing
    pushing pale lilies
    in a storm

  • sudden as sunset

    as sudden as sunset
    the sadness descends
    with old blood weight
    on the pristine of snow
    she shifts inside, sighs
    finger draws the frosted panes

  • feast

    i feel a drift
    coming on &
    may take the fade
    on a spell;
    nothing ever remains
    for the feast
    at me

  • catscratch

    with skin kissed in rope burns
    and pricked of thorns
    sheets stained of summer and
    whispers screamed at forlorn

    all barbed with catscratch
    do you desire anything more?

  • idle thoughts

    I sometimes wish I could be the knight bewitched by La Belle Dame sans Merci. I might be doomed to an imminent grave, but at least I will enjoy heading to my doom.

    Or, perhaps, I feel more like hopping in my skiff and riding the stream after failing to keep my focus on the mirror, and looking at beauty riding on by as did The Lady of Shallot.

    Or give myself to the waters in a fit of madness, as poor Ophelia did.

    Who suffered more? Tristan or Isolde? Let me taste that joy in the time before they fell.

    This is all absurdity, and yet… and yet… At moments there was joy.