Do You Remember

Cut and tear at what I have left behind. The bread crumbs to the mine field.  I left them hoping you would find me, hold me. Alas you went looking for a child and found only a part of its past. Among the scattered limbs you may be able to rebuild a likeness of me. Alas that person has long since lost his place in this world. Now the ghosts of failure and regrets haunt the flesh, seeking their solace and piece of mind.

The cackle of the crowd remind me of the world that seems so wonderful, so far from my grasp. This is the story my mind has been crafted to tell. This is the face I see in he mirror. This is who I am to myself. If I could prove myself wrong I would. Alas I lack the evidence to see anything more than the waste that clogs the drains.

I ask not for pity or proof of my worth.It would be a futile badge worn on a broken frame. I am only this, and nothing more.

Know Your Skin

It is your prison. It will hold all that is you too the world, and hide you from it. It is your embrace. rejoice in the futility of leaving. The sins of your heart will stain it until the image of it tells the story of your sorrow, loos, love, joy and deep contrition. It will move you to aid, to hurt, to cry out for the pain it has cursed upon you. It will tear, and it will hurt. It will burn, and it will hurt. It will be pleased, and that will hurt most of all. It will long for bodies, and reject affection. It will heal, scar, and refuse to forget, as much as it will be unable to remember.

The most frightening thing is that we chose to remain in it, hoping that the net day will feel better than the next. Remember, we chose. Our skin promises us nothing. We can not know for certain what will pass over it, or go into it. We cannot predict how long we will have it. But having it, in this moment, is a choice. If you forget that then you waist it.

Fallen

Bones now lie bleached on the sand,
reaching up to the sky with all the appearance of longing.
They once held so much in their grasp.
The blood that pulsed passed them,
the flesh and hide that clad them, now lost to the rot.
They have been marked by the beaks and claws,
by the teeth and talons of the hungry
There was a life to this frame
Now not even the memory remains.
 

Were I A Tail

What if I was a story. My life and the action that color them told through the ideas of an observer, researcher or dreamer. No more would I be the person that inhabits this flesh, but an idea creator, a character constructed to be shared. My actions dictated by a purpose, within a narrative. With every turn of the page I would live for those few moment, in the words that form I the minds of the reader. I would go through the changes that are part of a fiction. First the idea of the dreamer, then the momentary reality of the reader. The same words, many different me's. Carved out in phrases.

What would my story be. What would be my reason d'etre. What tragedy would I face in order to grow. What elements of me would e used to relate to and what to alienate. Shall I be the protagonist or the antagonist. Will my ending induce happiness, or be cemented in tears. Is my story to be one of love and joy, or a tragedy.

I will tell you once the tale has been fully told.

A Forest

The eyes stayed closed as the sounds crawled past. In them were the promises of a time that was once my own. I had them if only for a moment. They were the very things that took me too long to consider. Now hey are no longer the means to make the dream seep from the sheets I stained with your blood. A sacrifice to a manner of flesh and sweat. They held me in the way that scorpions embrace the prey of the sand world. It shifts with the notions of the wind, the carrier of the souls who are yet to be judged. I may have seen you for a moment, weeping silently, but the sound is familiar enough for me to hear it even among the scream of my own mind, the drowning contrition. The way the cackling of days long decayed come back in torrents of embers that cling to my flesh and fill the air with smoking flesh, the sent of sorrow manifested. I would beg for the chance to hold you whilst your skin turned blue, for the winter air was fiery beside the idea of your body. Drown as we may, in our own ideas and the poisons that we cloud our minds with, rage at the capacity to hold fleeting clarity. It is not the place we promised ourselves in the drunken desire that took too strong a charge of our actions.

Cut not the strings I have used to have used to sown my chest closed. The rib cage still missing, and the lungs tend to press the heart agains the walls of my body. So I sit and watch the blood pump through the rotten organ I once call my heart. You named it such in a moment of naivity

Rot

So I heard her, in the gargled expression that comes from a larynx negotiating its relation to the sinuous grasp that once held it in place. Unable to find the melody that fired in what remained of her mind. Hunger raged a midst a murky hollowness where once her name resided. She reaches out to me, whilst approaching with a crippled stride, her body fighting to remain in motion. No more tears fall from her eyes, nor shall her face ever smile back at me. The world hangs in screams and flames behind her. In jerked decay the space between us barreled. Her lips sliding past the steel. Her winter skin forced against mine. She fell into me. It was not long before I surrendered to the sinking wormth, as I too was no longer able to scream.

The Hole

Hey there, what is that hole doing in the middle of the garden. It seems to be getting bigger and bigger. What an amazing event, a strange happening. Just think of all the possibilities. You could make a pool out of it, and then have parties with scantily clad ladies and drinks with umbrella's in them. Wait, maybe you could plant a tree in it, one  that will grow many stories high and provide for you, others and the enforcement. If it strikes water then you can make a well, and enjoy free water.

Wait, what are you doing?
Why are you climbing inside?
You want me to do What!
No I am not going to fill the whole with you inside.