May

Interlocked, a last caress pulls away from my fingertips in this final fleeting moment of you.

Throughout the physical and laws betwixt, where hymns lie silently and compounding matter begin, we hurtle through this space navigating places of air and land, a place with no time in between. On no corporal ground do we rest, for the harsh packed air steals any last motivation for me to defend myself, not against the opposition that continues to oppress our forces with onslaughts of dominant blasts from the gravity weaponry.

With utter disbelief I steal glances to gaze across a boundless volume of sky that holds in everything all at once; a war-torn frontier of shattered bones and shredded pink mixed amongst fungi clouds of black smoke and abrasive pluses of colorless light. This to me is a logical state in which I exert boundless knowledge and prowess over enemy, eons of skillfully mastering offensive craft used to slay and destroy.

Everything all at once, and yet nothing to have ever been at all surrounds me, I have no care for distant explosions that shake my being to its core because without your warm weaved embrace all is but silent, all is eerie and all is dead.

The sudden loss of sound threw me off balance, in that moment I knew only the sudden loss of you and this quickening feeling of nausea submerging me; it started with creaking, soon erupting into the stripping of my muscle and tendon falling away from bone. I am shedding myself and I am to be laid bare, to be laid fragile in mid air with no safety net. I begin to recognize and process that this is a silent moment where what I thought to be invincibility hastily became my own mortality.

I cannot bare to look above me into the endless shape of ultramarine for I will not find your extended and slender shape of crimson, your body masterfully opened to captivate and shilled appendages encapsulating my inner form. I cannot bare this moment or the moments that have been before for us away from the conscious and unyielding forces behind why we turn the skies from indigo to cobalt. In my mind, in my shadow, in my ego and to the servants of the onlookers within I can only think of you and your warm weaved embrace.

So as my earthbound flesh withers down into the rhythms and pluses that stay here with me, I look beyond the space to watch you as you glide into the in between, where the apex meets the veil — and with one agonizing flicker where horizons share a sweet kiss, does our moment make haste to fade. And yet again, I think of you.

Now, it feels like I’m being stripped away from my body layer by layer. Peeling the skin back, always violently, ripping and stripping and tearing to expose white fleshy fat that’s washed away from my vessel in what feels like acid.

Pretty pink muscle being shredded from nerves and tendons— torn into stringy strands of unloved and unusable machinery. Organs slit and cut and divvied up, how tender is the flesh that they will unknowingly become… but still my bones are being broken and shattered and ground with teeth like pulverizers gnawing and cracking apart my structure.

Now I am nothing. Not even the heavy, dark, distinctly deep and destructive dirt will want me. Now I am torn into ash that melts into nothingness. Now I am gone.

With a bright and startling light, ice kissed reminiscence of blue hot flames dance and flitter on tired, abused appendages.

Hitting hard ground, consistently and constantly, these parts move from memory. Motioning through instinctual actions they have the mark of the flame. Remaining tainted they forever linger ice kissed. Above yet behind, spaces out of reach they see, they feel, they fear… an unknown uncomfortable entity looms, out of place and unjust in its space— it does not belong.

An oppressive force lingering makes paranoia spiral and hallucinations dance at the corners of the rage of sight. Light and see through movements hang suffocating the unseeing seer. Primal fear. Yet the knowledge of nothing being physically present heightens quick distrustful demise of all that is seen and what lies in the unseen.

Foreign now the limbs of hard labour for now they are unmovable…. Within the short time and in-capability to move the minds entity forever holds these motors that once were; no longer. And betwixt timeless planes the ice blue reminiscence dance and flitter fully engulfing tired abused appendages.

Breaking the seal upon the cradled matter I sink into deep and salt and cold. Waves of primal instinct wash over me whilst the conjoining of water quiver on the soon sealed surface. As I drag this immortal and careless form, arms bent, legs coiled ready to spring, I push myself through blackened cold, heavy with the eons of sea. Pushing and pulling all around me I firm this matter around my form— continuously I push and pull until toes dip and calves slink into slumbering river banks.

Purified white tissue falls, cascades into ripples erupting from the epicenter of where I have been placed; woven threads of body encapsulated by a natures primal binary I always feel the touching. The touching of, too, for, from and by me, I always feel the touching. Heavy are my steps met with fricative forces meander over and under; over the movements that time itself had caressed as if in a tender mothers embrace whilst under, under mercurial tranquility that endlessly slips and evades. I always feel the touching of things that argue.

Thighs swept through cocooning bodies, an endless feeling of what touches me darkens… siphoning my sin into drowsy, vast, pulsating beats humming from within the cores progression

through age. Emerged and subdued I pivot towards heavenly light in a time of enteral polar night…

Hundreds upon tens of generated magnetism waves come oppressively spiraling deep into my forehead, and delicately I commit to the touch of a dual peeked touch; willingly I let myself be taken into the space where never will a touching be felt.

Elapsed planes navigate the wonderings, lead by sacred surfaces of organs draped with systemically calculated crimson. Tart with pigment they embrace the serine and sterile curves of hypnotic organizations.

I am awakened by innate fealty I see myself outside of myself, a curious reflection of not myself. To the commands to jump uttered and ushered by fractured fingers I come crashing through, down, impossibly down, back into a vessel that clicks and opens reuniting myself the curious reflection of, of not myself. Aware and awake I float amongst songs drowned by others over and on top themselves. And yet again, slowly but during, I feel the creeping itch of the touching.

Sheer now I have become, touched and touches remain clinging to the outside, the outside that is within. Swiftly my convictions overwhelm me and leave me with the single notion that I am not the chosen. Permanent now, the touching grips and snuffs its-self into crevices the naked cannot see; bathe me clean with no violence withheld, these all over my body.

I begin to dilute myself into liquid until I reach a diminished state. The now un-pigmented damp folds hold weight, forcefully framed and frozen the shallow shoals I dream of dreaming. I am imploding. Thread-less moist droplets fold In on themselves to where I am teetering the line between the alternate. I am crushed into myself where I hold my shape, where I am reminded yet again I am the one who remains.

And a mere vessel, laden and lain to practice perfect peace in its view to the galleries above. Unmoving and unloving but yet adorned with love, motionlessly lay for gawkers to gawk and ponders to ponder the failings of what they themselves cradled. Active and advanced a mind rewired to travel vast spaces and live through infinite capabilities, can do nothing but apply endless boundless applications of mental contortion tied to a lead form. Physical, impractical and disposable the heavy lead lay laden to practice perfect peace in its view of the galleries.

False color generates nothing visible; running horizontally through grand looping structures near the plane of distant remnants, home to the last pulsating stellar forms I project me and my mortality into the immortal.

A sip of a salt and with one breath I am alive: heart racing eyes watering fingers scratching ears ringing alive. And in one simple and swift movement I am again. I am again how I always am. Again being a shell, void of emotion of not even containing the feeling of feeling— lying parallel to how I am again waits before I was and how I shall always be; a densely hearted and laden ache dragged across concrete, a mind and heart and soul intertwined into a weight; a weight like heaviness that would have been used to see. To see if I was darkness, if I was fear, if I was the unknown.

But now we know… it wasn’t darkness nor fear nor the unknown, is was oppression, it was willful ignorance teetering across boarders of bigotry and power and magic, it was of greed and of destruction. And with my shaking, nervous frosted and electric fingers outreached from my illuminated and branded hand I place in my mouth the future of me; the future of going or how I am, not on this plane but in the next…

In the moments of passing all thought of who I am again and fleeing past how I always am, I have a sense of peace— from lunar nodes to solar cycles I am peaceful, in this short span of existing in this peace I sit wide-eyed and open-minded, mourning myself for not being able to breathe or see or touch or smell or feel deeply as deeply can be felt, it’s as if I am an other.

A familiar, warm embrace of before I was and how I shall always be tenderly lays my being under it’s tendrils. A protective a loving familiarity grounding me to reason, my anchor speaking on behalf of all us fractured into functioning during this time of peace.

But as the hours slip by, with each framed moment I loose a sense of this peace whilst the 5th slowly rears it’s sharp edges, all consuming until many hours have passed and the 5th eclipses those of me in me. As my heart slows eyes dry fingers rest and the ringing is silenced, with one breath, yet again, I am alive.

What is there that I cannot see but I see over and behind myself. Eerie looming thickens a heavy veil as the only space between myself and what is there that I cannot see but I see over and behind myself.

Hallucinations flickering behind my retinas accompany soft indescribable crashes of noise, pausing and jumping, erratic in flow. Familiar yet alien and unknown I justify why such a presence would be clear to me despite my paranoia seeking to see what is simply not there yet what is there that I cannot see but I see over and behind myself.

Oppressive structures lifted like weights to relieve pressure from my senses bring me back to a logical reality where I no longer need to see what is there that I cannot see but I see over and behind myself.

Eventually; Inescapable exhaustion has succumbed my body to the ways in which the dead rest and soon my mind will follow upon Allowing myself to understand, to acknowledge, to accept that there isn’t anything that Is there that I cannot see nor that I see over and behind myself.

Weighted lids linger along lash lines encrusted in salt. Mineral rich deposits shed lost like touches of the once loved; the once embraced.

With primal warmth I ignite and envelop those delicate and deserved moments of trust, of care; and yet spiraling and racing, fleeing and crashing I return to this isolated space I shelter myself in.

Pointed voices pointedly crowd the small places in the dark in the deep, existing only to gleam and gloat at my inevitable return to prophecy. I take it in and on and above me, in and on my inside, on my own accord and above of myself; above all that exists in this plane of individual, I take it of above.

Constantly clinging to a small sliver of hope this melodic rhythm of recklessness and regret will become submerged by something greater than me.

Hot and searing shame runs down the slopes of blackened guilt giants, erupting and traversing lands known or unknown to meet on newly re-educated pathways instinctively suffocating, snuffing, destroying any and all a seedling lain to sprout. Drawing back my warmth with each realized moment I sink into this space, sinking back into the small places pointed voices demand and consume what little silence I have left in moments of true serenity.

Drained I am reminded of drifters moving further away from me because of me because I lack, because I’m reminded. Drifters feather and flat to endlessly exchange what I have known to always be my own expression, my own experience of delicate and deserved moments of trust.

But, brutal and unjust in intention I learn, I repeat patterns of learning, learning that once again I am not wanted.

I cannot focus. What is parallel is misconstrued and distorted into a being that no longer lies within the parallel. Deceptive and unreliable the guides gifted to me to navigate, to process, to understand have spiraled into a state opposite of the voyeur. And as these guides are so similarly protected; they touch. Touching a motion that causes complete discombobulation.

A lead like enclosure brings the two points together and at that moment of sharing sweet and tender kisses, my gifted guides are hurled into a plane of utter helplessness and fear. Static shapes and heavy deep darkness reside here— with every movement bright circular kaleidoscopes of light carry ominous messages… slight and light movements encompass the infinite void. Movement that lingers as a trace only to be thrust into heavy, weighted and crushing pressure building inside the sockets.

Looking into the 5th I remind myself of how I chose to leave but somehow, somehow I am the some that have eternally stayed.

I often lament over sorrows swept away; swept away by myths and figures and gods with a simple yet sweet, chronic and hardened yearn for elixir, ambrosia.

The court of magicians in uncivilized Angelo lands raping the earths lovely from one’s for themselves, they lay woven with whispers of a nectar fixated on building dependency to look towards always towards and to look away always away whilst the people whom you shan’t name running and mucking and enacting trickery that only amuse themselves. Yet with all tales and words and primal purring passed down and passed down again we still look to these wonders, these glimpses of whimsy, we still look towards, always towards and look away, always away from the cold suffocating reality laden on our backs as if atlas was nothing more than a singular drop amongst a wider, larger, vast lake

Many a warning have been uttered of the unnamed, spiriting souls into chaos and ferrying the lost into slumber, still we only see them and see in wonder, we still look away always away, choose to look away always away, choose to be ignorant always choosing? From the stark harsh barren landscape some have carved into for all to feed.

Trickery is a fickle thing for the eyes that pry in the spying glass that spy it keeps the incessant need hungry keeps the incessant need incisively current, crushing those of us that eternally stay into the cracks and creases of corners begging for a thread— Just as the sweet elixir, the nectar, ambrosia has filled our veins with illusion and delusion, we remain.

No morsels had passed my parched breath to meet the tender sweet touch of my lips. Cracked and peeling I fret. I pull and pull again and fiddle until I cannot pull and pull again and fiddle, no longer. Pick picked picking the grooming continues into a vicious cycle teetering between beatification and self loathing infused physical destruction. I and it’s or we, we cannot feel, we cannot hear nor listen but I and it’s and we wait patiently to feel— a feeling that never comes. Rotten and wasted I strain my gaze towards passed opportunities doomed from the start for a feeling that never comes. I would not willingly or forcefully choose my predicament nor willingly or forcefully enforce it.

Eyes strained, vision blurred and organs burned I lie encased in heavy weighted warmth and I slowly slip into slumber. Black and flashed back to practice, I lie awake and look at what shall soon be another rotten and wasted victim from passed opportunities.

Foul and silent I lie and wait to finish one of my many cultivated images of mind with farmed and racked land, by my own hand I lay. Motivated for heavy lead lined peaks to rest at impasses of moment come and gone.

An onlooker amongst fields of fellow watchful, public eyes I live vicariously in the delusion and daydream of a chance meeting to profess my invocation, my disposition to love a single curated image intended to capture adoration. This is a peaceful and fantastical place— one of whimsy and a place I do not need to defend or justify my insanity, my hysteria; to forces in my paradoxical relationships that require reality, tangible concepts… places that leave no room for wonder or ponder; such places where Atlantean titans bestow generations of trials and tribulations onto the shoulders of any unlucky enough to have to be born into a resourceless wasteland— forever carrying the burdens and crimes alone simply for being the most capable to handle such weight despite not being capable in fact at all.

Un-welcomed and looked upon, my strained body moves to twist and flex into positions reminiscent of protection that children in the fetal feel. One such child mirrors my movements as I curl and sink deeper into the lines between my limbs. Unjust and unloved the child lays parallel to my equally unjust and unloved form; both abandoned in our own victimhood in-between places of secret.

“A gift”.

Breathless sound passed my voiceless tone. Raspy and chocking filled with salt deposited mineral do the low pitched words escape past bleeding and gnarled lips. Chapped and cut up do the opening of my siren like sounds reflect the passing of violence I have been afflicted with.

“A gift”.

Repeated within parallel the un-welcomed continues to look upon my strained body. Small and tender does it embrace itself feverishly wielding silence to my never-ending moments of loss.

Between man my fingers once again long, outstretched for a first touch between this first moment of you. In my mind, in my shadow, in my ego and to the onlooker faced towards my being I can think of it and a first warm weaved embrace.

Bombarded with my own self-destruction, drawn colored forms of muscle, tissue and bone prophecy my obliterated form destined for eternal healing. This onlooker so delicate caresses my weakened state despite such visceral horror as a sight for all eyes to spy.

In this moment, I am overcome. Emotionally I’m torn into places of space hidden in closed off areas of my thought where I wonder if never have to fear over real and pressing emotions that could never be developed or approached. It is without love I and the creature lie, unloved I make promise to a nexus event between us— Here, despite I being of un-love, I offer my love as gift and here within this delusion, within this daydream I am accepting, giving and have the boundless capacity to hold, to care, to nurture, to dream for such love.