...

we sit guard,
at the doors of our past,
the only ones knocking,
are our own demons,
to be released,
to rummage and plunder,
through now,

the now is good,
it always is,
when threatened,
if perched perilously,
on the edge of oblivion,
from the past,
let the sleeping monsters lie,

the best grave,
awaits,
well deserved,
a eulogy without memories, and
the epitaph unmarked,
silence -
eloquence of the dead.

...

it is this.

there is no meaning,
outside these words,
no warmth,
outside this cold embrace,
no noise,
more defeaning than this silence,
no conversation,
more satisfying than this monologue,
no brightness,
more incandescent than this blazing darkness,

it is this.

and this is,
as it should be.

...

what i hold,
a shiny piece of fractured glass,
uneven edges, scarred within,
my window into the violent world,

what it truly is,
is a mirror,
telling of all faults,
it reflects who i am,

no more a soothsayer,
than one's most earnest desires,
no more a window,
than one's wishful thinking,

'tis time, however
to cast the broken aside,
to take on reality, truth
and build on what's alive.

...

what life denies you,
you try, and
find in love,
what love denies you,
you try, and
seek in death,
when death defies you,
you walk, 'round
and 'round,
in a daze,
broken,

when snarls,
and growls,
forget to convey,
when tears, and
whimpers fail,
leaving a pile,
on that ground,
stomped on,
stepped on, or over,
kicked out, or about,
just remember,

you're not the first,
neither will you,
be the last,
we've all been there,
one way, or
another, everyone
goes about,
with a broken heart,
or temporarily mended,
but nobody wears,
it on their sleeve,

the salve,
is for you to find,
where, when, and
how,
here, now, or
over that bridge,
are all,
your choice,
to find life, and
love, or simply
fade away.

...

don't ask, questions
to answers already here,
neither hard,
nor easy,

how, why and who am i,
pale in comparison,
to unwilling answers,
i am,

it starts with a question,
and ends with one,
the expanse, from
why to why not,

trapped in between,
is silence, answers
to questions, that are
never asked.

...

long staccato,
short syllables,

simple meaning,
mired words,

real feeling,
unreal actions,

love me,
love you.

...

the grasp strengthens,
every day,
it's chaos at my wrist,
there is also life,
on the other side,
order awaits patiently,
with death,

as they grow strong,
find purchase, (on)
my grasp of reality, (or)
weakening,
no one can tell,
if they lead me,
or i them,

'tis a secret yet,
where this will lead,
to raptures, or
the grave,
one truth remains,
however,
the journey has begun.