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Alpha enigma omega mcguffin
Sensate ornate piledriver jackhammer
Chim-chiminey gimme gimme
Shiv shiv in the back
An irresistible fascination with black clouds
An irascible laceration spilling facts out
An irrational abjuration kills then backs out
An irredeemable condemnation fills with max doubt
Coughing choking noxious vapors
Offing joking toxic capers
Doffing smoking walking papers
Scoffing movers, boxing shakers
Difficult not to feel this
Grab a corner and peel this
Take the wrong deck and deal this
No one’s looking so steal this
No one sees you conceal this
Someone throws a surreal disc
Someone flows through the real this
Someone knows to reveal this
Dust devils under crushed metal
The kettle whistles, the dust settles
Malicious vicious dishes taste delicious
A thousand wishes ambitious auspicious
Reflex reflects rejected respect
Inspect neglected wrecked object
This part is not like the rest
It’s meter and pattern are broken
Obfuscating any sequence discernment
Succeeding in becoming unpredictable
What’s coming next? Another rhyme?
We haven’t got the patience or hours for that
Hours and hours pass while we’re pretending to sleep
Or actually sleeping
Or keeping our minds busy while we try to sleep
Or attempting to astrally project into another locality
Does anyone know what really happens all the time?
Or is it all just an educated guess
Happenstance circumstance instance
The dance we all imagine we’re performing
I don’t see myself how you see me
I see myself how I think you see me
Three things mean the same in any language
Fuck you


Shadows And What’s Behind Them

Black ice flowed across his heart in that slow glacial way. He saw her emerge from the cocoon of automotive joy she had arrived in. Holding one hand out, he offered his assistance. She graciously accepted. She was wearing gloves, a 1950s affectation that had suited her well ever since her grandmother the movie star had advised her to take it up when she was a girl.

She was still a girl, but one with wisdom and talent behind her. All eyes upon her, she proceeded into the restaurant, followed by paparazzi and goons to bash them senseless. He eyed her hungrily, though the menu lay open before him. His eyes were oblivion, but her eyes were oblivious as she stared him into a hazel resolve.

He actually blinked. Just once.

She boldly ordered the eight hundred dollar scotch. It was brought to her by two impeccably dressed servers, trained in decorum and presentation. Which was utterly ruined by her telling them to get on with it. No savoring, no sniffing, no checking, just open it and pour over ice. Two glasses. He could choose which. The. End.

Three shots later, and she was ready to speak.

“I get the vial. You can have anything else you like.”

He looked at her from across the table, and it may have been across the room for all the attention she paid him. She had a way of making him feel human again. How did she do that?

“What if I want you?”

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and smirked. “I’m autopossessed, and desecrated. So sure. Why not?”

He pulled out a Damnation and lit it up. A solid glass of water to the face took care of that bad habit. He prepared for the burn, but it was regular water.

“Bitch! How dare you!”

She grinned. “Shut up and have a drink! I’m way ahead of you.”

He paused mid-rant, and grabbed his scotch on the rocks. He drank it slowly, looking at her lustfully. She flashed him one of her breasts, and showed him one of her fingers.

“The vial.” It was a statement.

He fished the vial out of his jacket pocket and gave it to her. The room got very quiet, and very dark, and a wall appeared, securing their privacy for what was to come. He leaned in, grabbed her hair and kissed her, then motioned to his pants. She just looked up at him, batted her eyelashes and started undoing his trousers, removing the belt slowly.

Suddenly, foam and vomit started spewing from his mouth. He shook violently, and quivered erratically until he finally collapsed, partially dissolved.

She removed her gloves carefully, tossing them into the scotch glass where they burst into flame. She opened the vial, whispered a chant and slogged it down.

It was the belt she wanted. Made from the skin of Azrael. Granted strength and speed, but only if one knew how to work it. He hadn’t.

He also should have learned how to drink his liquor, she thought. No nursing. He just found out the hard way that holy water makes some hellacious ice cubes.


In Case You Feel Like Being Melancholy

You meet, you love, you laugh
You fall out, you break up, you grieve
Time passes…

You meet someone from that time
You see something on the web
Time backs up…

Is it reminiscing
If you think of times you hate?
When the only good memory you have
Is when it ends?

You meet someone else, you love, you laugh
You vow not to repeat your mistakes
Time loops…

You lose friends because you grow
To prefer quality to quantity
You vow not to vow
But to live well
Time heals…
Wounds heal…
There is love…


Pensive Skyfire Missing Her Waves

Aching skies, crying out for ocean’s warmth
Incendiary air, steam rising up
The motion of your waves excites me
Dearly, I need your mist
Saturated with your love, captivated
I surround you
Somehow, I cannot see within
To what is stirring
I caress you
Somehow, I cannot fathom
Your depths
I ache for you, longing wistfully
I feel trapped, this sky
Over mountains
Over the golden plains
Above grand cities and quaint villages
Lights dazzle and sparkle
Majestic spires reach for my hands
But they are not my beloved ocean
They are not you
Whom I cry for
Longing for my sea
For the horizon when we can touch
At last, inseparable
Finally, one love


You Call This A Lullaby?

What the hell am I still doing up, when I’m so tired? This year is like a silver-lined version of the last one. Like I used eye drops and everything is so much clearer and brighter. Even when I look within.

So how can I sleep when I have so much energy and drive?

And yet, what the hell am I still doing up, when I’m so tired?

Second verse, same as the first…
Remember that expanded view thing that went from the universe all the way down to the atomic level? That’s how my introspection works right now. I learn all sorts of things about myself.

For example, I found a conscience in there somewhere, and shame was my ambition. I’m an empath, and guilt was my engine. I’m very responsible, and fear was my drive. Not that I don’t still have all of these things.

But hey, some people have to learn things the hard way, and it’s a hard knock life, baby. We all have the same teacher, same resources, same questions. Stop copying off me.

Because how do you know I’m not feeding you the wrong answers?



Anxiety and pain and I’m struggling, trying to get through this random stream of consciousness that pervades my thoughts. The battle rages on, chipping away at my sanity, turning lies into weapons and truths into pools of liquid, in which I may ultimately drown

It’s you, you’re all I need, you’re all I want, you have all of me including my every breath…

Lifeline, she is, pulling me to safety. The fire I move toward matches my own in intensity and desire, and I wonder if it will consume us both, only for us to rise again repeatedly like phoenixes. Her eyes stare into mine perpetually, drawing me in and drawing me pictures of a future I once only dreamed of.
I have trouble breathing, both literally and figuratively, and gasping for breath has become one of my favorite hobbies. I run to expand my capacity, but it doesn’t expand my capacity for pain, my tolerance for attacks, my leisure for doing what I want to do to maintain peace and sanity.
She is my breath, my oxygen. She keeps me alive sometimes. It’s scary to put my life in someone else’s hands like that, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust with my life. Ghosts and demons, they’re practically my friends, but trust is a mischievous sprite who plays tricks on my sentiments and dances on my metaphorical grave, the one I hope never to enter. Yet giving her mine seems like the most obvious thing in the world, and I do it quickly and easily.

I don’t have claustrophobia. I am perfectly willing to climb into a small enclosed space like her arms, and feel comfortable and safe. I don’t have agoraphobia. I am quite content to send everything to the skies and reveal all to her through my wide open spaces


More Pressing Matters

Removing stones from chest
Breathing easier these days
Crucible on cruise control
Witchery matters not
The ocean forgives
Welcoming, embracing
Sky chaotically smiling
Dressing in wind and rain
For formalities and finalities